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A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


MARY WOODMAN 




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Gloria 


^ tCouft) of Portugal 

OR 

The Little Count of 
Villa Moncao 


BY 

MARY WOODMAN 

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Boston 

ATLANTIC PRINTING COMPANY 
179 South Street 



Copyright, 1910 
By MARY WOODMAN 


All Rights Reserved 



gCI.A280304 


PREFACE 


T he leading facts of this story came under 
the writer’s observation during her long 
residence of twenty years in Portugal. It 
is not only in the different countries of Europe 
that parents have induced their children to marry 
for wealth, but in our own free country many a 
young girl has sold herself, or given her property, 
for a worthless title, forgetting that the noblest 
title is that of the upright self-made man or 
woman. 

Mary Woodman. 


Bebtcation 


This book is dedicated 
to 

Miss Elizabeth B. Laing 
with the 

affectionate regard of 
the authoress 
Mary Woodman 


CONTENTS 


Gloria 

CHAPTER I 

15 

Eulalia . 

CHAPTER II 

42 

Herr Berner 

CHAPTER HI 

61 

CHAPTER IV 

The Viscount Duarte de Costello 

76 

The Palace of 

CHAPTER V 

THE Viscount de Costello 

87 

- 

CHAPTER VI 


The Marriage 


113 

CHAPTER VII 

The Reconciliation .... 

123 








INTRODUCTION 

A TRAVELER living in Portugal any length 
of time, would be strongly reminded of our 
Saviour’s beautiful parable. On the hills 
and in the lovely valleys you will see the Good 
Shepherd with his flocks gathered about him, his 
ever watchful eye looking for a greener pasture 
and cooler spring and when he found them he 
would call the sheep, and as they gamboled 
around him, he would take a little tired lamb on 
each arm and carry it in his bosom. What a 
beautiful symbol of our blessed Saviour’s loving 
care. The swine-tender is one of the lowest occu- 
pations among the Peasants in Portugal. He is 
generally ragged and indolent, living and eating 
with the swine on the banks of some stagnant 
brooks. 

The churches are opened all hours of the day 
for prayer, meditation and rest. Among the 
worshippers will be seen the peasant and the 
poor widow with a long black cloak and a little 
bag upon her arm casting her mite into the treas- 
ury box, whom Jesus commended so highly to his 
disciples as he was teaching in the temple. The 


9 


INTRODUCTION 


convent bells at sunset call all from their daily 
labor to rest, and at dawn the soldiers’ bugles call 
them to their labor again. It is only when the 
chime bells cease to toll that the churches are 
closed for the night, and the organ ceases its 
chants and hymns. There are three Apostolic 
Catholic churches in Lisbon. I will not call them 
Protestant, for there is such a broad-minded feel- 
ing and Christian love and brotherhood that a 
good Christian feels God’s love constantly in his 
heart. 

When the convents were abolished in Portugal 
and the good Maria II accepted the throne 
from her father Dom Pedro, after obtaining limited 
power to rule, one of the finest convents was 
given to the Scotch Presbyterians for their church. 
It is enclosed with a high wall, which withstood 
the earthquake in 1755. It has a number of acres 
and a large garden in which are fruit trees, shrubs 
and flowers. It is situated on the so-called Boa 
Vista (Beautiful View). On the street joining the 
walls of the church is the Presbyterian Publishing 
House, where Bibles, Testaments and children’s 
books are printed in the English and Portuguese 
language. The Rev. Mr. Stewart was the clergy- 
man. He lived in the convent with his family. I 
was invited to visit Mrs. Stewart, and many a day 
have I wandered through the silent rooms and in 
the garden, gazed upon the cloister, where under 


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1 




On the Estate of the Count of Villa Moncao 



INTRODUCTION 


the pavement lie the bones of the monks ; and as 
I gazed on those sacred graves, a sweet peace 
refreshed my soul like the dew from heaven. 

On the estate of the Count of Villa Moncao is a 
beautiful convent, in which the Count allows some 
old nuns to remain who were children when the 
convents were abolished, and some young rela- 
tives came to live with them. They made lovely 
flowers and embroidery, which they sold to the 
wealthy. The main building was a college, where 
music, language and the classics were taught. 
While visiting at Moncao I tried to get a view of 
these nuns; all was in vain. But, one day, I 
saw the gate opened and two peasant girls carry- 
ing into the convents baskets of tan upon their 
heads (which they burned). Gloria and myself 
dressed in peasants’ garments with a basket filled 
with tan upon our heads, followed the peasant 
girls into the grounds. I had carried their dinners 
to the nuns, put it upon the wheel and turned the 
wheel, asking to see them, but their reply was 
always : ‘‘You cannot see us. We do not see our- 
selves.” The peasant girls’ laugh soon betrayed 
us. They were very angry, and pulled their veils 
over their faces, but when Gloria told them I had 
come from afar over the ocean to see them, and 
when I told them I wanted to tell my people what 
a sacrifice they were making to be good and serve 
God, they called me a Christian, embraced and 


II 


INTRODUCTION 


kissed me and allowed me to take their photo- 
graph, which adds to the pictures and interest of 
my book. 

Roof gardens form another beautiful feature of 
Lisbon where the houses are built on the sides of 
hills, making a charming sight and increasing the 
beauty of the city. 

Bull fights is one of their chief amusements. It 
shows the strength of the brute and the man. A 
bull will never fight a second time. I saw a bull 
driven into the ring and he deliberately walked 
into a corner and laid down. He seemed to look 
upon his tormentors with disgust. He had been 
there before, and no driving could bring him upon 
his feet. Some animals are far superior than men, 
for what is more brutal and cruel than two men 
fighting and injuring each other. The Portuguese 
nation is too honorable and proud to fight their 
fellow-men for amusement. 

A marriage is always celebrated in the church. 
The Portuguese are great lovers of the opera 
and theatre, and they have the best talent. 
Every family has its altars, where they pray 
and meditate after they have had their 
meals. One writer has truly said, ‘The men are 
high-bred, courteous and intelligent, and the 
ladies have a charm of manner and talent for 
society which all foreigners admit.” The greatest 


12 





The Nun, 


We Do Not See Ourselves 


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INTRODUCTION 


secret of this is the way they are educated. The 
mother reads the daily paper, marks the items she 
does not want her children to read, gives the paper 
to the governess or one who has charge of the 
children, who cuts it from the paper before they 
are allowed to read it. 

Many of my readers have heard of the great 
earthquake, which was on All Saints’ Day, 1755, 
and destroyed the beautiful city of Lisbon. The 
people built a large memorial church in commem- 
oration of that day. It was over one hundred years 
ago, and the people have gathered in and around 
the church to pray and worship God for his love 
and mercy. In 1882 Spain had a series of earth- 
quakes. They came in the night. We felt and 
heard the trembling and roaring in Portugal, but 
not a window was broken, not a life lost; God 
remembered their prayers. . 

It was with sadness that I said ‘^Good-bye” to 
that lovely land and my dear friends. It seemed 
that every stone, every flower and tree had move- 
ment and voice and were bidding me a sad fare- 
well. In the little church, after prayers, as we 
were parting, Father Joseph laid his hand upon 
my head and gave me his blessing, saying : “If we 
never meet again in this world, we will meet up 
yonder,” pointing to the sky. “Yes,” I replied, 
“and if I get there first, I will tell Jesus you are 


13 


INTRODUCTION 


coming, for I met you on the road.” Tears were 
in his eyes as he clasped my hand. Sometimes I 
think I have many guardian angels, and dear 
Father Joseph is one of them. • 


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The Old Gray Palace 



A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


OR 


THE LITTLE COUNT OF VILLA MONCAO 


CHAPTER I 


GLORIA 


N the margin of the river Douro (or golden 



river), opposite the historical city of Porto, 


stands the gray walls of the palace of the 
Count de Villa Moncao. The family of the Count 
was a very ancient one. Their title was given to 
them by King Deniz, for their bravery in the bat- 
tles with the Moors, but like many families of the 
nobility, uncles married their nieces, and cousins 
their cousins, to prevent their land and property 
from passing out of the family. 

After a succession of such marriages, the in- 
iquity visited itself upon the children, by insanity 
or disease. Many incidents of this were seen 
among the numerous children of the Count de 
Villa Moncao, but since the Convents were abol- 
ished by King Pedro IV, in 1832, these unions 


15 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


have been less. The young Portuguese girls assert 
their rights to-day in choosing their husbands, 
with no fear of being prevented, or shut up in the 
cell of a gloomy monastery. 

Perhaps it would be well to give my readers the 
reason why the Convents were abolished, and the 
Monks and Jesuits expelled from Portugal in 
the year 1832. About 1828, Pedro IV, King of 
Portugal, took his family to Brazil (which at that 
time belonged to Portugal), leaving his brother, 
Don Miguel, as regent, to govern the kingdom 
until his return. 

His object in going to Brazil was to leave his 
son, Don Pedro I (the late Emperor of Brazil), to 
rule in that country. The Brazilians were pleased 
with the young Prince, but they wanted to be in- 
dependent of Portugal. They formed an empire, 
and Don Pedro became their Emperor. During 
the absence of Don Pedro IV from his kingdom, 
Don Miguel incited the people against him, with 
the intention of usurping the throne. 

Portugal at that time had despotic rule. Don 
Miguel sent spies into every city, town and village, 
and those who refused to sign a document acknow- 
ledging him to be their King, were thrown into 
the Convents, to die or suffer torture by the Monks 
and Jesuits. Many signed from fear, but a greater 
part of the people chose suffering and death rather 
than acknowledge Don Miguel’s tyrannical power. 


16 


GLORIA 


When Pedro IV heard of his brother’s treach- 
ery, he started for Portugal, taking his daughter, 
Maria the Second, a girl of fifteen years, with him. 
Stopping at the Azores and Madeira Islands, he 
raised a formidable army, and entered the north 
of Portugal, where he added recruits to his forces, 
and marched towards Lisbon. There he encount- 
ered his brother, whom he banished with his 
family to Germany, with the condition, ‘That if 
any of the family ever entered Portugal, they 
should be imprisoned.” The Convents were then 
thrown open, and many of the victims found were 
so reduced by hunger, foul air, and darkness, that 
they died soon after being brought to the light of 
day. Among the victims were the grandfather 
and uncle of the Count de Villa Moncao. 

Some of the Convents were used for educational 
purposes, others were sold to private persons and 
the money appropriated for government schools. 
When Maria the Second was eighteen years old, 
Pedro IV resigned in favor of his daughter, who 
refused to reign under despotic rule, and a limited 
government was established. 

In one of the rooms of the palace a beautiful 
girl was seated in the recess of a window. A 
troubled and sad expression gleamed from her 
dark, dreamy eyes, as she gazed at Father Joseph, 
the priest, who was walking, deeply engaged in 


17 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


thought, in the garden below. She imagined his 
thoughts, and, laying aside the book she was read- 
ing, went down and joined him. Putting her arm 
within his, they walked to and fro, for some mo- 
ments, in silence. '‘Donna Gloria, your father and 
cousin, the Count de Valenca, are expected here 
next month. Let us talk over your father’s wishes 
and the Count’s visit,” and taking a letter from his 
pocket, the priest began to read its contents. 

“Don’t take the trouble to do that, Father 
Joseph,” exclaimed the young girl. “I received a 
letter from Papa, yesterday. He writes that I am 
to receive my cousin as my future husband. Do 
they think they can buy and sell me, as they do 
their cattle? Not one drop of kindred blood shall 
flow through the veins of the man that I shall call 
my husband ! Think of Eulalia ! She is one of the 
victims of such a marriage as my father is at- 
tempting to arrange for me”; and, with flashing 
eyes, Gloria walked back and forth under the 
orange trees. 

The old priest looked at the beautiful girl sadly, 
for he knew the strong will and selfish heart of the 
Count de Villa Moncao, and the proud spirit of his 
mother, the old Countess. He remembered the 
Count’s sullen disappointment when his first child, 
an almost helpless and deformed son, was born; 
and, two years after, the beautiful, but unfc»rtun- 
ate, little Irene was given to them. This daughter 


i8 


GLORIA 


was deaf and dumb. The grief of the young 
Countess was deep. She had never loved the 
Count, who was her cousin, and the sight of her 
unfortunate children, and her morose and gloomy 
husband, broke her heart, and she died shortly 
after Gloria’s birth. But nature had given to this 
last child what it had withheld from the elder chil- 
dren. Gloria grew in beauty and grace, and, as 
years passed, she showed a fondness for books and 
music. She had a sweet voice, and her father and 
grandmother were very fond of her, and every- 
thing that money could buy was at her command. 

“No,” continued the young girl, seating herself 
beside the old priest, “I will not submit to such a 
wicked marriage. I will wash my hands from the 
curse which has hung over the house of my ances- 
tors so long, and. Father Joseph, I have given my 
heart to one whom I dearly love, and have prom- 
ised to be his wife when I am twenty-one,” mur- 
mured Gloria, a bright smile checking the tears 
which had started in her beautiful eyes. 

“God bless and help you, my dear child, and,” 
continued the old priest, laying his hand upon her 
head, “if I could live to hear the shouts of merry 
children’s voices ringing through the gloomy old 
rooms of yonder palace, I would say, ‘Lord, I have 
seen the salvation of this house, let now Thy ser- 
vant depart in peace.’ ” 

“Gloria, oh, sister Gloria,” shouted Henrique 

19 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


from an open window, “you promised to play and 
sing for me !” 

“So I did, and I am coming.” 

The beautiful girl left the priest in the arbor and 
hastened to her invalid brother. “And, sister, 
bring me some of those orange-blossoms and 
English violets!” Gloria gathered the flowers he 
loved so well. His very wish was sacred to the 
devoted sister. 

“There, dear, are your flowers. Are they 
not sweet?” she asked, putting them into his 
hands, and tenderly kissing his forehead. 

“And what shall I sing, my darling brother?” 
the sister asked, drawing his head upon her arm, 
and looking into his big, brown eyes. She was all 
he had to love, and she was such a great happiness 
to him, and when she talked or sang to him, the 
sad yearning look would seem to fade away, and a 
happy, contented expression took its place. 

“Sing, 'Oh, there are blessed dreams that come,’ 
something sweet and good, my dearest sister.” 
And the sister sang until sleep closed the weary 
eyes, and a peaceful smile rested upon the suffer- 
er’s face. Gloria gently laid the fair head upon 
the pillow. “Darling,” she murmured, “Earth has 
no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.” 

Who wondered that the weak and almost help- 
less brother, clung to his strong and tender- 
hearted sister? Sometimes the old Countess 


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Father Joseph in the Garden 


GLORIA 


would pity and whine over him, which would irri- 
tate his sensitive nature and make him ill for days. 
Often the Count would look gloomily at his son. 
and, in secret, Henrique would shed many bitter 
tears. He knew what a disappointment he was to 
his father, for all the great wealth of the Count de 
Villa Moncao could not bring health or content- 
ment to the old, gray palace. 

Gloria Mello sat long at the window, thinking of 
the past, and trying to look into the future. 
Father Joseph was yet walking under the trees, 
reciting a chant. The young girl went to the 
piano, and sang in a low tone, a sweet melody. 
Henrique opened his eyes and gazed fondly at her. 
The little clock on the mantle was striking four, 
when dinner was announced. The servant entered 
the room to assist Henrique. ‘‘Lean on me, darl- 
ing,’’ and the sister drew his arm within her own. 

The Count and his mother were fond of high 
living, and always dined in grand style, but the 
long, stately dining-room, with its dark walls and 
high ceiling, was not half so cozy and pleasant 
to Henrique and Gloria, as the sunny little break- 
fast room, with its great bay window, where birds 
sang and flowers bloomed all the year. There the 
invalid brother would spend his mornings, while 
his beloved sister would read to him a story from 
some favorite author. 

Conversation is seldom heard at a Portuguese 


21 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


nobleman’s table during dinner ; but the party will 
linger for hours over the wine and fruit, and con- 
verse or read the news. A servant entered with 
the papers, and gave a letter to Father Joseph, 
who immediately opened it. As he read its con- 
tents, a heavenly smile played over his face. “She 
has found her vocation, ’tis the Lord’s will,” he 
murmured, giving the letter to the Countess, who, 
after perusing its contents, passed it to Gloria, 
saying: “It is from Irene; I don’t think your 
father will give his consent. Oh, why has the 
Lord so afflicted this house !” mourned the grand- 
mother. “It is not the Lord’s work,” replied 
Gloria, sadly, as they arose to leave the room, and 
putting the letter in the bosom of her dress, whis- 
pered, in answer to Henrique’s wistful look, “We 
will read it together, dearest!” It was now the 
vesper hour, and the brother and sister sought 
their accustomed retreat in the little chapel, to 
read Irene’s letter. 

“Convent de Zamora, Spain. 

Dear Father Joseph : 

“I am very happy here. The Sisters, as you see, 
have taught me to write, and you will be glad to 
know that I have ceased to mourn over my mis- 
fortune. I cannot hear anything wicked, nor say 
a bad word. How good God is to give me sight 
and reason, for I can see and enjoy all the beauti- 


22 


GLORIA 


ful things He has made, and I feel His love within 
and about me. I take a lovely flower, it has no 
voice, it cannot hear, but its beauty charms my 
sight. I smell its fragrance, which cheers and 
gladdens my heart. Every little flower fulfils its 
mission, and I want to fulfil mine. I want to be a 
Sister of Charity. I hear my Saviour calling me 
to follow Him ; I want to go about doing good. I 
hope father and grandmother will have no objec- 
tion, for I can come and visit you. Tell my dear 
brother and sister, I send them much love, and 
many longings, and embrace you all. 

“Ever your loving 

“Irene.” 

Tears filled the eyes of Gloria as she finished 
reading Irene’s letter. She loved her beautiful 
sister, and her heart rebelled at the thought of her 
leaving her for a convent life. Putting her arm 
around her brother, as if afraid of losing him also, 
and laying her head upon his shoulder, she sobbed, 
''You will never leave me, Henrique?” "Only to 
go home to be with the Saviour,” he replied, look- 
ing at the painting of the Ascension of Christ, 
which hung over the altar. The peasants were as- 
sembling in the little chapel, and the vesper bells 
were chiming the hour of prayer. A parting sun 
ray from a colored window threw a halo of glory 
over the painting. The brother and sister knelt, 


23 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


and lifted their eyes and hearts, in prayer and faith, 
to the Ascension of Christ. 

The vineyards, the orange and olive groves, 
and most of the landed property of the Count 
were in the Villa Moncao, a beautiful village in 
the north of Portugal, where the river Minho 
winds its way through the quiet vales, or gushes 
over the hill-side, in its descent from the upland, 
forming many lovely cascades. The old palace of 
the ancestors of the Count stood in a charming 
valley. It was a long two-story stone building, 
with a chapel at one end. The palace was in a 
large courtyard, in the center of which was a foun- 
tain, and in the walls of the yard were small grated 
windows, with stone seats on each side, while in 
one corner of the court was an old arbor. Jes- 
samine and ivy covered its sides. A round stone 
table stood in the center, which was once used for 
plants. 

It was to this charming retreat that Gloria and 
Henrique delighted to go in the latter part of sum- 
mer or early autumn, when the fruits were being 
gathered and the vintagers were carrying the 
grapes to the press. It was mid August when 
Gloria and her brother, accompanied by Father 
Joseph, went to meet the Count and their cousin 
at Villa Moncao, where they were to remain dur- 
ing the harvesting. Not a cloud darkened the 
sun ; nature had on her brightest robe. The fields 


24 


GLORIA 


were decked with scarlet poppies and white daisies, 
and, now and then, a glimpse of the Minho was 
seen, shining through the orange and olive groves, 
while the merry songs of the peasant girls, as they 
cut the luxuriant grapes from the vine, gave life 
to the rural scene. 

It was late in the afternoon when our travelers 
reached the little station, where the carriage was 
waiting to take them six miles beyond. 

The family servants had garnished the old- 
fashioned rooms, and as Henrique and Gloria, 
followed by Father Joseph, passed through the 
hall, whose walls were covered with family por- 
traits, and entered the neat, cozy drawing-room, a 
restful, glad expression brightened the pale face 
of Henrique. “You are weary, darling,"’ said 
Gloria, putting her arm around her brother, and 
pushing aside the heavy damask curtain which 
hung across the entrance of a room beyond. “See 
how lovely Maria has arranged your room, with 
your favorite flowers in every nook.” 

(“En nao posso fazer bastante para a minha 
repeiz.”) “I cannot do enough for my young 
master,” said the old servant, who followed them 
with a waiter containing a tempting lunch. 

The next morning, the servants stood in the cor- 
ridor to pay their respects to the family as they 
entered the breakfast room. This is the custom in 
the families of the nobility in Portugal, and the 


25 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


respect and love that is exhibited there between 
master and servant is such that rooms are reserved 
in the palaces for servants past labor, and where, 
perhaps, their children, or other servants, attend 
to their wants. The Count de Villa Moncao and 
his nephew arrived at midnight, and it was late the 
next morning when Gloria received her father and 
cousin in the breakfast room. After the Count 
had embraced his daughter, he presented her to 
her cousin, saying, “I am sure you will find Gloria 
an attentive listener, Luiz. She will like to hear 
about your travels.’^ 

“I am certain that we shall be good friends. I 
have something to tell you ; may I confide in you, 
Gloria?” As Gloria looked at his frank, smiling 
face, all the dislike which she had determined to 
show toward her cousin vanished. 

"‘Yes,” she replied, returning his smile. “Do 
you remember when we were children, you called 
me your little sister? I will be a true and loving 
sister, Luiz.” 

Her cousin looked earnestly at the lovely up- 
turned face, then, drawing her to his side, he kissed 
her brow, murmuring, “Dear little sister Gloria, 
you have made me very happy.” 

Count de Villa Moncao sat watching them be- 
hind his morning paper. (“Ben, munto ben”) 
“Well, very well,” I was afraid that Gloria would 
receive him coldly,” he murmured. Father Joseph 

26 


GLORIA 


and Henrique had entered the room in the mean- 
time. The Count embraced his son, then, turning 
to the good priest, asked in a low voice, looking 
toward the window, “What do you think now. 
Father? Gloria is too sensible to throw away such 
a good husband as Luiz will make her. He has 
one of the oldest and best titles, and one of the 
finest estates in the kingdom. He is a nobleman 
in every sense of the word.’' 

“Yes,” replied Father Joseph, “Luiz was always 
a good lad, but let them alone. Count, they know 
their own hearts.” 

The Count of Villa Moncao was never in 
better spirits than on that beautiful summer morn- 
ing, as they gathered around the breakfast table. 
He gazed fondly on the lovely face of his daugh- 
ter, as she handed him his coffee, for on her de- 
pended the heir to his title and the increase to his 
vast wealth. 

Now, he could afford to relent and give some 
attention to his unfortunate son, and turning to 
Henrique, he entertained him with a description 
of London, Paris and other places 

“How would you like to go with Father Joseph 
to Rome? You will see St. Peter’s Church, 
and perhaps the Holy Father. That would please 
you better than all the gayeties in the world. Is 
it not so, my boy?” 

“I am contented to hear you and cousin Luiz 


27 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


relate what you have seen in your travels,” re- 
plied Henrique, “but,” continued he, “I can im- 
agine no climate so delightful, no country more 
beautiful that my own.” 

“That is my sentiment, Henrique,” exclaimed 
his cousin. “When standing on some lofty peak 
of the Alps, or sailing along the shore of the beau- 
tiful Rhine, how often would my thoughts wander 
to my boyhood home among the vine-clad hills 
of our own Sierras, — Yes, dear, sunny Portugal. 

“Though other fields may be as green, 

And other skies as blue; 

And other faces fair be seen, 

And hearts be found as true, 

Ah! be it ruled by milder rule. 

Or swayed by lawless hands; 

With joy, with pride, what ere betide; 

I love my native land.” 

“Patriotism is almost as essential as piety,” said 
Father Joseph. 

“I think it is as essential as love for one’s 
kindred, for it will protect and feed, when 
relatives forsake us,” responded Gloria, rising 
from the table. The feeling of dread and sus- 
picion which she had cherished toward her cousin 
in his long absence, had vanished, and she felt that 
she had been unjust in thinking that he had been 
a willing tool to her father’s ambitious desire ; but. 


28 




Resting: Upon the Moorish Bridg:e 




GLORIA 


with a woman’s instinct, Gloria knew that Luiz 
had something very near his heart to tell her. 

“I think, Father Joseph, that if Luiz were not 
my cousin, and I didn’t love Herr Berner, that I 
could love him well enough to be his wife, pro- 
vided he loved me a great deal, of course,” said 
Gloria, with a merry laugh, as they were returning 
from an after-dinner walk. They were resting 
upon the old Moorish bridge, which crossed the 
Minho river, and were waiting for the others, who 
were slowly advancing. 

“He will make some woman happy. I wonder 
that he has not formed an attachment in all the 
years abroad. I have heard,” continued the priest, 
“the English and German ladies were very lovely.” 

“I think he has,” replied Gloria. “This morn- 
ing, as we stood by the window, Luiz asked me if 
he could tell me something. He was pleased 
when I said, I would be what I was when we were 
children, his sister.” 

“God bless you both, my child,” responded 
Father Joseph, crossing himself. As her father 
and cousin drew near, Gloria saw that the old 
Prior and Father Manuel, from the village of Val- 
enca, had joined them in their usual walk. 

“You look pale and weary, Henrique,” said his 
sister, going to his side. “It is tiresome riding 
this donkey,” he replied, dismounting. “Will you 


29 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


ride, and rest your feet, Gloria?” he asked, laugh- 
ingly, ‘'while I walk to rest my body?” 

‘T suppose you are coming to the vintagers’ 
festival, next week,” asked the Prior as they 
reached the palace. “Yes,” replied Luiz, “we 
will stop on our way to Valenca ; I am anxious to 
see the old place, and make some alterations in the 
palace.” 

The wine region, extending many miles north 
of the river Douro, presents to the eye an endless 
panorama of rounded hills, terraced from base to 
summit, and planted with vines. Olive-trees bor- 
der the vineyards and occupy some of the deep 
hollows, while gloomy pine woods fringe the lofty 
crests; here and there a gleaming white house 
with its grove of orange or cypress trees, or a 
water-mill, shaded by oaks and chestnuts, or a lit- 
tle village, perched picturesquely on the hillside, 
breaks the wearying monotony of the landscape. 
At the base of the hills the yellow Douro flows 
swiftly over its rocky bed, bearing high-prowed, 
flat-bottomed boats, laden with pipes of wine, im- 
pelled by a graceful white cloud of sail, and steered 
with a huge oar, worked from a pivot on the stern- 
post, to the great Porto wine stores. 

The vineyards are estimated to occupy an area 
of about 96,000 acres. The steep and rugged con- 
figuration of the district obliged the wine-growers 
to adopt a special method of planting, in order 


30 


GLORIA 


to keep the loose, flaky soil, in which the vines 
are set, from being washed away by heavy rains. 
This consists in cutting away the ground along the 
hill-sides, so as to form a succession of steps, and 
building up walls in front by way of supports. 

September is the month for the vintage. Bands 
of vintagers come dancing and singing on their 
way to the vineyards, and the gathering of the 
grapes commences. Women with red and yellow 
kerchiefs tied over unkempt tresses, and with bare 
feet, are scattered over the terraces, singing, more 
or less melodiously, as they detach the bunches of 
grapes with small hooked knives, and after re- 
moving the immature and unsound berries, throw 
them into baskets swung on their arms. The con- 
tents of these are emptied into large baskets hold- 
ing nearly a hundred weight, which, when filled, 
men with sheep-skins to protect their shoulders, 
and plaited straw knots on their heads, hoist on 
their backs, and move off in Indian file, bearing 
them along the rugged winding paths and up and 
down steep flights of steps to the press house. 

Pressing the grapes is a long and arduous oper- 
ation. Men with their white trousers rolled up to 
the mid-thigh, step into the lagares, — huge res- 
ervoirs of solid masonry, with sides about three 
feet high, and capable of holding sufficient grapes 
to produce from ten to thirty pipes of wine. The 
men form a line, with their arms resting on each 


31 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


other’s shoulders. They commence work by ad- 
vancing and retiring across the lagar with meas- 
ured steps, raising and lowering their feet alter- 
nately at the word of command, “right”, “left”, as 
though at squad drill. 

A fiddler, seated on the edge of the lagar, saws 
away at some merry tune, while others swell the 
din with fife, drum and guitar. Women are look- 
ing in at the windows, encouraging the men with 
jokes and laughter, and, from time to time, the 
overseers, on the look-out that each one does his 
share of the labor, serves out nips of brandy, or 
cigarettes, to stimulate the men to further exer- 
tion. 

The “first beating of the wine” as it is called, 
lasts, with occasional halts and relays of fresh men, 
for eighteen hours or so. By this time the atmos- 
phere of the press-house is heavy with the odor of 
fermenting must. The treaders, with their gar- 
ments more or less bespattered with purple grape- 
juice, move slowly about in a listless fashion. 

The fiddler strikes up anew, the drum rattles, 
the fife squeaks, the guitar tinkles, and the over- 
seers drowsily upbraid, — ^but all to no purpose. 
Music has lost its charms, and authority its ter- 
rors. The men by this time almost dead beat out, 
raise one purple leg, languidly, after another, far 
into the watches of the night. Whenever a sam- 
ple of the must is wanted, the large white saucer 


32 


GLORIA 


is called into requisition, and one of the pressers, 
lifting up his brawny leg carefully, balances him- 
self while the saucer is held to catch the must as 
it trickles from his dripping heel. This is inspect- 
ed and tasted, and the important consideration of 
the amount of saccharine contained in the wine is 
determined by means of the saccharameter. 

The pressing completed, the must is left to fer- 
ment in the ‘^lagar,’" until the saccharometer in- 
dicates that the fermentation has proceeded far 
enough. The stalks and skins of the grades have 
formed a thick crust on the top of the must, which 
is then drawn off into large casks or tonels hold- 
ing from ten to thirty pipes each; the stalks and 
skins are then made up into a heap in the center 
of the lagar, and the juice remaining in them is 
pressed out by the leverage of a huge beam of 
wood, usually the trunk of a tree, weighted with 
a large stone. 

The resulting wine is kept by itself, and is put 
into separate casks, as it is not equal in quality to 
the mass. The new wine remains undisturbed in 
the tonels until the end of December, by which time 
it has cleared itself and become a deep purple hue. 
It is then drawn off its lees into other tonels, 
and some pure grape brandy is added to it. In the 
following spring, empty pipes are sent up from 
Porto to the vineyards, and the shipper’s agents 
see that the wine is duly racked off into them. 


33 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


These pipes are taken in bullock-carts to the banks 
of the Douro river, and hauled on board the flat- 
bottomed craft that convey them down the rapid 
and dangerous stream to the wine-shipper’s lodges 
or stores in Villa Nova de Gaia, a suburb of 
Porto. 

After the long and tedious labor of the vin- 
tager, the villagers celebrate the joyful event with 
a feast. Peasant girls, dressed in their finery, with 
heavy gold rings hanging from their ears, and 
baskets filled with eatables upon their heads, go 
chattering and laughing on their way to some 
beautiful spot on the village green; and the men 
with bright colored sashes tied around their waists, 
tinkle their viols or banjos. It is a pleasant sight 
to see the peasant’s wife spread her bounteous re- 
past under some shady tree, while her husband 
plays on his banjo, and his little ones dance around 
him. 

The nobility who are passing the warm season 
at their country-houses, and the priests of the vil- 
lage attend these anniversaries. It was mid-day 
when the Count of Villa Moncao and the cousins 
arrived at the festival. Father Joseph had started 
early in the morning, and the villagers were noti- 
fied of the young Count of Valenca’s return from 
abroad. Cheer after cheer greeted him with, 
“Long live Luiz de Almedia!” They left their 
carriage to share the hospitality of the peasants. 


34 


GLORIA 


Luiz thanked them for their kind reception. He 
felt that he had a home in their hearts, which to 
him was the dearest place for a home, and many 
of their faces reminded him of his boyhood, when 
he played with them on the same village green, 
which now looked more beautiful than ever. He 
told them that he had come home to live among 
them, and to share their joys and their sorrows. 

It was sunset when the family arrived at the 
palace in Valenca, which was a few miles from 
Villa Moncao. Being on an eminence, it com- 
manded a magnificent view of the surrounding 
country. 

The old Count of Valenca loved the home of his 
ancestors, and spent money and labor in beautify- 
ing its gardens and parks, until it was called the 
finest estate in the north of Portugal. The mother 
of Luiz died when he was a few months old. The 
Count mourned his young wife's death; and, tak- 
ing his little boy, retired from the gay life of 
Lisbon, to the beautiful home of his boyhood. 
When Luiz was twelve years old, his father died, 
and the little orphan entered his uncle's family 
where his frank and generous nature soon en- 
deared him to his cousins. At the age of seven- 
teen, according to his father's request, he went 
to Germany to finish his education. 


It was the twilight hour, the day before the part- 

35 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


ing. “We shall miss you, and you will be very 
lonely among strangers, Luiz,” said Gloria, as 
they sat in the garden. “There is a place where 
parting is unknown,” sighed Henrique. “Look at 
the evening star, how bright it is to-night! I 
wonder what kind of people live on that planet,” 
he continued, “and if they know what separation 
is!” 

“I hope they are not so wicked as they are in 
this world,” responded Gloria, “but do look at 
Irene! One can easily tell where her thoughts 
are, by her expressive eyes.” “Dear girl, I be- 
lieve she lives in the spirit-land, more than she 
does in this world,” said Luiz, drawing the beau- 
tiful mute to his side, and kissing her brow, as they 
entered the palace. 

The Count accompanied his nephew to the Uni- 
versity of Gottengen. 

“You will be twenty-one, and Gloria eighteen, 
when you have finished your studies ; then you will 
be your own master, and at just the age to marry,” 
said his uncle, when they were near their journey’s 
end. 

“Gloria is a girl any man would be proud of, and 
she is a dear sister to me, but I am certain she 
would never consent to be my wife, so do not urge 
her to think of such a thing, it will make her un- 
happy.” But the Count of Villa Moncao, forget- 
ting his own unfortunate marriage, and for the sel- 

36 


GLORIA 


fish love of wealth, was determined to follow in 
the footsteps of his ancestors. On his return to 
Porto, he expressed his desire to Gloria, adding 
that he expected her to comply with his wishes.’' 
“But, father, did you say to Luiz what you have 
just said to me?” asked Gloria. “Not exactly, but 
something which amounted to the same thing,” 
replied the Count. “And what answer did he give 
you?” “Well, he said he was proud of you. Don’t 
that mean love, admiration, and all that kind of 
nonsense? What more have you to say?” 

“That I will never marry Luiz de Almedia nor 
any other relative ; so help me God !” replied Gloria 
in a decided voice, and leaving the room. 

“Well, she has got a will of her own,” muttered 
the Count, as soon as he could recover from his 
astonishment. Going to his mother’s room, he 
repeated Gloria’s words to the Countess. “Leave 
her in peace, Henrique. She is too young to think 
of marriage,” replied his mother with a sigh. Per- 
haps she thought of her own, and of her son’s, 
unhappy marriage, and her heart softened toward 
her granddaughter. 


Four years passed swiftly away. Luiz had been 
a diligent scholar and a great favorite among his 
companions, who invited him to spend the holi- 
days with them. Visiting different countries, he 
found time to write home interesting accounts of 


37 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


his travels and college life. It was during his last 
vacation in Chester, England, at the home of his 
room-mate, Alan Milford, that he met and became 
attached to Alice Howard, Alan’s orphan cousin. 
Mr. Milford had consented to the marriage taking 
place on New Year’s Day, and it was with joy that 
Luiz returned to his native land to prepare the 
palace and chapel for the occasion. But one thing 
made him sad, and that was the thought that 
Gloria loved him, for his uncle had often an- 
nounced in his letters that they were anticipating 
great pleasure (especially Gloria) on his return. 

The Count had gone to attend the graduation of 
his nephew, and accompany him home, and it 
cheered his heart when Gloria told him, — “That 
she would be a sister to him.” 

And now, my reader, we will return to the 
cousins at the palace in Valenca. The morning 
after the festival, while walking in the garden, 
Luiz told Gloria what she suspected, and what the 
reader already knows. 

“She has a good as well as a beautiful face; I 
know I shall love her,” she said, gazing at the 
photograph Luiz had handed her. “But no title, 
no fortune, and only a little school teacher. What 
will my noble father say?” 

“My uncle may say what he will, but I intend 
to manage my own affairs.” 

“I also have a little secret to tell,” and the young 

38 


GLORIA 


girl took from the gold chain around her neck, a 
locket containing the likeness of Herr Berner, 
painted on ivory, “but first tell me what you think 
of that face !” Luiz took the locket, and looked at 
the frank, laughing eyes of the German. “A fine, 
intellectual face. But who is he, and where did 
you find him ? I understand from Uncle Henrique 
that you did not go into society, and was devoted 
to Henrique and your studies.*’ 

“Father was so anxious that I should be able 
to speak German with you that he engaged Herr 
Berner, the Professor of the University of Porto, 
and the day I received father’s letter bidding me 
to consider you as my future husband, Herr Ber- 
ner came and found me crying. I had to tell him 
all about it, and he said you should not have me, 
for he wanted me himself,” answered Gloria, with 
a merry laugh. “I knew father would not give his 
consent, so we have concluded to wait three years ; 
then I am twenty-one. ‘True love never runs 
smooth’ is the old adage,” continued Gloria, in a 
more serious voice, “and I am sure ours will not. 
Franze and I will have many trials and sad hours 
before we begin life together.” 

“Our lives are beginning to look like a story, 
with its lights and shades,” added Luiz, drawing 
Gloria’s arm within his own, as they arose to leave 
the garden. “And for one sunbeam, there often 


39 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


comes long patches of shadow/’ replied Gloria, 
sadly. 

Great was the disappointment and anger of the 
Count of Villa Moncao when Luiz told him of his 
betrothment to Alice Howard. All the cherished 
dreams of years were crushed, and all for a poor 
English teacher. 

“It is your money and position the girl and her 
family want. The English are a selfish, cold- 
blooded race,” were the first words he uttered. 

“You know. Uncle Henrique, that I studied law 
at the University. My friends do not know that 
I inherit a title or great wealth. All they know is 
that I am a Portuguese gentleman, or lawyer, in 
good circumstances,” responded Luiz. 

“Well, I don’t want to know, or see, any of 
them,” grumbled the Count, as he strode from the 
room. 

“The storm is over, and I wish I could say that 
the clouds had passed with it,” said Luiz, entering 
the library where Gloria was reading. 

“Poor father, I wish he could see things in their 
right light. What a heaven this world would be 
if we would forget self sometimes, and strive to 
make each other happy. I love to share what I 
have with those who have not.” 

“You taught me that, Gloria, when we were 
children, by your thoughtfulness and unselfish love 
for Henrique and Irene, and in many other ways ; 


40 


GLORIA 


and, Gloria, I feel to-day, as I used to feel in my 
boyhood, when I looked from these windows upon 
the river and mountains in the distance, the little 
village in the valley below, and the orange and 
olive groves. I feel a love for God and all His 
works. This is a grand old place, and how happy 
Alice and I shall be in it 

“Dear Luiz,” murmured Gloria, “I rejoice in 
your happiness; but never forget the Giver and 
Father of all good.” 


41 


CHAPTER II 


EULALIA 


ATHER JOSEPH had returned to the old 



Gray Palace, and with bowed head and 


^ hands clasped behind him, was walking up 
and down the garden path, and casting an occa- 
sional glance to the wan, pale face at a window in 
the remotest part of the palace. 

“They call it fate,'' murmured he, “but I remem- 
ber that face when it was as lovely as an angel's, 
and when those vacant eyes beamed with the light 
of a pure, untroubled soul. Oh, how often she 
has said to me, Tather Joseph, I want to be a 
Sister of Charity!' She was only eighteen when 
the light of reason fled from those sweet eyes, and 
I hope she is the last to suffer the terrible curse 
which has followed this family for many genera- 
tions," and Father Joseph sighed as he brushed 
a tear from his furrowed cheek. 

Let us visit the inmates of the palace, where in 
an upper room sat Sara Pinto, sewing. She was 
the attendant of Donna Eulalia, the only daughter 
of the Countess of Villa Moncao. Twenty-two 
years had passed since her mind had become de- 


42 



“ They Call It Fate ” 




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EULALIA 


ranged, but sometimes she would have lucid inter- 
v^als for many hours, but, as years passed, these 
intervals g^ew less, until they ceased. 

To-day she had been unusually silent, as she 
laid upon the lounge with half-closed eyes. A ser- 
vant entered, bringing her dinner, but Eulalia 
showed little desire for eating. “Take some of 
these delicious grapes,^' pleaded Sara. The invalid 
shook her head as she pushed them away. Eula- 
lia’s insanity had never been violent. 

At the usual hour, the Countess visited her 
daughter, and found her in a deep sleep. “She 
has been still all day, and sleeps most of the time,” 
replied Sara, in answer to the Countess’ questions. 
As the mother sat by the lounge, gently stroking 
the pale brow, Eulalia opened her eyes, and gazed 
upon the Countess with a sad, wondering look; 
then, closing them, sank into a quiet slumber. 

“I will send Jonna to remain with you to-night. 
My son writes that we may expect him to-morrow. 
I shall be glad to see him, for I am weary of this 
monotonous life,” and, with a sigh, she arose to 
leave the room. 

On reaching the other part of the palace, she 
heard music, and, on entering the music room, 
Herr Berner arose from the piano to meet her. 

“I am glad to see you, for I am having a touch 
of the blues.” 

“I was not aware that the wealthy were ever 


43 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


afflicted with that malady, but only the poor,’' re- 
sponded Herr Berner. 

“Every heart knows its own bitterness,” replied 
the Countess, with a sad smile. 

“Well, I have good news, respecting myself. I 
have been offered the position of Professor of 
German and Music in the University at Lisbon, 
also teacher to the Royal Princes,” and Herr 
Brenner handed a letter to the Countess. 

“You know that I esteem you very much, and 
that I am sincerely pleased with your good for- 
tune, and that we shall miss you, especially Gloria 
and Henrique. But,” she added, “the letter says, 
‘begin your duties at the commencement of the 
year,’ so we will have you with us until then ?” 

“I wish I could say yes, but, as this will be a 
permanent situation, I want to arrange a home in 
Lisbon, so that my mother can live with me the 
remainder of her days. I am all the child she has, 
and it grieves her to have me so far away. The 
steamer sails in a fortnight, and I thought I should 
have time to visit the wine district, — I have not 
seen that part of the country, — and call upon my 
dear pupils at Villa Moncao to say good-bye.” 

“Certainly, you may be sure of a hearty wel- 
come. Gloria and Henrique would feel slighted, 
if you did not; and when you come to Porto, 
don’t forget us,” said the Countess, as he bid her 
good-bye. 


44 


EULALIA 


That night, after she had counted her beads and 
said her prayers before the altar in the oratory by 
the side of her sleeping-room, she sat meditating. 
The Countess had been thinking a great deal of 
late, more than she used to. Gloria’s unselfish 
devotion to her invalid brother made her think. 
Henrique’s parting words, ‘^Grandmother, if you 
feel lonely while we are at Villa Moncao, let us 
know, and we will come home before the harvest- 
ing is ended.” 

“Poor boy, how many comforting words did he 
ever get from me!” she murmured, and then she 
thought of Irene, whose greatest wish was to be 
a Sister of Charity. 

Could it be that the gentle spirit of their mother 
was hovering over those dear ones, and guiding 
them ? She saw the unselfish love of Christ exem- 
plified in her grandchildren; but to-night she was 
thinking of the tender love Franze Berner bore 
to his mother ; his ali?iost daily visits ; his pleasant 
words; and their little game of cards, which al- 
layed many an hour, and now, with a trembling 
hope, she thought of the longing, wondering look 
and gentle sleep of her stricken daughter. Was it 
possible that the cloud was passing away? That 
God was answering the prayer of so many long 
years? With a glad cry she fell upon her knees. 
God had manifested Himself to her. His spirit 
had touched her proud heart. “Lord, here am I, 


45 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


guide me into Thy truth and light,” was the 
language of her heart. No more vain forms of re- 
ligion; no countless mysteries. 

The next morning when the Countess went to 
her daughter’s room, she found there Doctor 
Nunes, the family physician. Eulalia had eaten a 
light breakfast, and was sleeping, but a peaceful 
smile rested upon the pale face. “Yes,” replied the 
doctor, in answer to the Countess’ anxious ques- 
tions, “when she fully awakes, her mind will be 
clear.” 

Tears of joy and gratitude filled the mother’s 
eyes. “Oh, doctor,” she murmured, as she 
grasped his hand at parting, “of all the sorrows 
which afflict a mother’s heart, there is none to be 
compared with this sorrow.” 

It was with a glad heart that the Countess greet- 
ed her son. She had been informed by Father 
Joseph of Luiz’s intended marriage, and when the 
Count alluded to it, she said, gently: “If you and 
I, my son, had asserted our rights as Luiz had 
done, how much suffering and sorrow we and our 
children would have escaped.” 

The Countess now passed most of each day in 
her daughter’s room. One afternoon she sat by 
the bedside, holding one of the thin hands be- 
tween her own and gently caressing it. Eulalia 
opened her eyes and smiled. 

“Eulalia,” said her mother, softly, as she bent 

46 


EULALIA 


over her, ‘"do you know me?’’ ‘‘You are my dear 
mother,” she whispered, putting her arms around 
her neck. After awhile she said, “I have had a 
long, long sleep; I have been ill, but now I feel 
well.” 

Sara handed the Countess the medicine Doctor 
Nunes had ordered to be given, when she awoke, 
and after taking the potion, she ate a light repast 
with pleasure. The happy mother sat with her 
arm under the pillow, supporting the dear head, 
until twilight deepened into night, and Eulalia was 
sleeping. Then, with a grateful heart, she retired 
to her chamber, thanking God for His loving kind- 
ness and tender mercy. 

The next day, Eulalia was removed to her old 
room by the side of her mother’s, while leaning 
upon her brother’s arm. The Count seemed be- 
wildered by the state of affairs. “What had 
changed his mother, and brought his sister back 
to her right mind ?” He remembered his mother’s 
objection to his marriage with his cousin, who had 
been kept in a convent, but his father and uncle 
insisted upon it, besides it had doubled his own 
riches. 

And what did Father Joseph tnean by his prayer 
that evening? Thanking God for “answering 
petitions.” The good old priest’s trembling heart- 
felt words filled his heart with awe. “Was it true 
that silent, earnest prayer had brought about these 


47 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


changes ?” A ride into the country or a daily walk 
in the garden, among the trees and flowers, was 
a delight to Eulalia. 

One beautiful afternoon, Eulalia entered the 
room where her mother and Father Joseph were 
reading. “Mother, before I was ill, didn’t I make 
bouquets and bandages for the sick at the hos- 
pital?” she asked, gently. “Yes, dear heart,” re- 
sponded the Countess, closing her book and 
drawing her daughter to her side, upon the sofa. 
“And, Father Joseph, didn’t you carry them?” 

“Yes, little Sister of Charity, and many a sad 
heart did those sweet flowers gladden,” replied 
the priest. 

“Well, I want to gladden and comfort more 
hearts again, and continue to do so all the rest of 
my life,” she murmured, laying her head upon her 
mother’s shoulder. 

“So you shall, darling, and Father Joseph and 
I will assist you,” replied the Countess, “but now 
it is time to take a little rest, and to-morrow we 
will begin.” 

“Father Joseph,” said the Countess, after Eula- 
lia had gone to her room, “since that night when 
Herr Berner bid me 'good-bye’ and God gave me 
the wonderful light, of which I have told you, I 
have prayed that He would give me a work to do, 
for I feel that my life thus far has been a failure, 
and,” she continued in a tremulous voice, “that 

48 


EULALIA 


dear one has been given back to me as an angel to 
guide my footsteps to Heaven, and when you carry 
Eulalia’s offerings to the afflicted at the hospital, 
and while you attend to their spiritual welfare, I 
will relieve their temporal wants. One-half of my 
income shall henceforth be given to God.” 

“I shall live to see the salvation of this house ! 
Bless the Lord, oh, my soul, and all that is within 
me, bless His holy name,” murmured the old priest 
as he knelt that night before the cross in his little 
room over the chapel. 

Franze Berner had visited Villa Moncao and 
had gone to Gottengen, Germany. The two young 
men had been mutually pleased with each other. 
Both had been students of the Gottengen Univer- 
sity. Herr Berner graduated the year before Luiz 
entered. 

‘‘My father was educated in Germany. He was 
a liberal thinker, and he loved his Alma Mater. I 
remember,” continued Luiz, “hearing him tell 
Father Joseph that the Germans train men to 
think, and that a Protestant University in Portu- 
gal would cause a great reformation in the church- 
es, and Father Joseph replied ‘that the Church 
needed more of the spirit of Christ, and less for- 
mality.’ ” 

“There are few priests so Christ-like as dear 
Father Joseph. He has been father and mother 
to us since we were children. Do you remember. 


49 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


Henrique,” continued Gloria, “how he would ex- 
plain the life of Christ to us, and taught us to pray 
to God?” 

“Yes,” replied Henrique, “and I remember 
Father Manuel from Valenca, entering the room 
while we were praying one morning, and when we 
had finished, he asked: ‘Why is it. Father Joseph, 
that you do not teach your pupils to ask the Holy 
Virgin’s intercession for their sins?’ ‘Because,’ 
he replied, ‘Christ never taught it to His disciples.’ 

“ ‘But the Church teaches it ; it is one of her 
dogmas.’ 

“ ‘I shall never teach any other but the doctrine 
and life of Jesus Christ,’ replied Father Joseph in 
a decided voice.” 

“His sentiments are those of a Protestant,” said 
Luiz. “And his life is that of a Christian,” re- 
sponded Herr Berner. 

The palace and furniture were renovated. The 
rainy season was approaching. The Countess had 
written to them an account of the events at home, 
and was anxious for them to return. So, one 
beautiful morning, they bid good-bye to the ser- 
vants, and Pedro took them in the carriage to the 
nearest station, and they reached the old Gray 
Palace at sunset. The Countess embraced her 
grandchildren and nephew in silence, which often 
expresses more than words. Eulalia had seen the 
photographs of her niece and nephew. 


50 










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Gloria and Her Aunt Gathering Flowers 


EULALIA 


The next morning, they met her in the little 
sunny breakfast-room, and kissed her pale brow. 
She returned their caresses with a gentle smile. 

After breakfast, Gloria went with her aunt to 
gather flowers for Father Joseph to take to the 
hospital. Henrique was cutting bandages, while 
Luiz conversed with the Countess. 

‘‘So, uncle has gone to Spain, to see Irene?’* 

“Yes, Henrique could not hear of her taking 
convent vows. He is, and always will be, an enemy 
to convents, and he has good reason for his pre- 
judice,” continued the Countess, “for he knew 
what his grandfather and uncle suffered in the 
Convent of Serra, on yonder hill, by the Miguel- 
istas.” (Subjects of Don Miguel.) 

The Count returned with Irene, who was to go 
back to the convent in the spring, on condition 
that she should pass six months of the year at the 
old Gray Palace. The Christmas festival was over, 
and the new year was approaching. The bridal 
party had arrived. The Countess and Gloria, with 
Father Joseph, accompanied the party to Valenca. 
The Count would have nothing to do with them. 
Henrique was having one of his ill turns, and Irene 
felt it was her duty to keep Aunt Eulalia company. 

“Yes, dear grandmother, you must go,” pleaded 
Henrique, when the Countess expressed her fears 
about leaving him. “With Irene, and the house 


51 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


full of servants, I shall not suffer for want of care ; 
besides,’’ he added, “you need a change.” 

“What was your object in deceiving us, and call- 
ing yourself at the University, a young man in 
moderate circumstances?” asked Alan Milford, as 
they were assembled in the dining-room, the day 
before the wedding. 

“Well,” replied Luiz, “I had various reasons. 
One was, I thought I should make more tr^ 
friends among my fellow-students; and another 
was I wanted to find a wife who would love me for 
myself; and I have found her,” he added, as he 
drew Alice to his side. 

“I am sure, dear Luiz, if I had known you were 
a wealthy Count, I should never have dared to love 
you,” whispered Alice. 

“Your little stratagem has succeeded very well, 
for I should not have given my consent so readily. 
You know we have so many imposters among the 
titled men, that one must take time to prove which 
are genuine,” said Mr. Milford, laughing. 

“I thought the wedding was to be in the village 
church,” exclaimed Mrs. Milford. “I declare the 
whole affair seems like a fairy tale.” 

“The palace chapel is where all the peasants in 
this part of the village worship ; they are employed 
on the land belonging to my estate,” replied Luiz. 

The chapel had been decked by the village girls 
and boys, with green garlands and bright flowers, 


52 


EULALIA 


The old Prior from the village had arrived. 
Alice, leaning on her uncle’s arm, entered the little 
chapel from the palace, dressed in pure white, 
natural orange blossoms being her only ornament. 

Alan Milford and Gloria were groomsman and 
bridesmaid. Father Joseph performed the cere- 
mony, and a joyful smile spread over his care-worn 
face, as he gave them his blessing. The village 
children strewed flowers along their path as they 
left the chapel porch and entered the palace, where 
Margarida, the house-keeper, had prepared a 
bountiful repast for all. The great hall was given 
to the villagers for a dance and other amusements, 
and they returned home well pleased with the re- 
ception the young Count and his lovely bride had 
given them. 

“I must say,” exclaimed Margarida to John, her 
husband, after the family had retired, 'T think the 
Count has done well. When I asked my lady what 
I should get for breakfast — and it is not very 
pleasant to have a mistress over you, where you 
have been your own mistress so many years, — 
^Oh, Margarida,’ she cried, ‘do just as you always 
have done; get what Mr. Luiz likes, and I shall 
like it.’ Why, she put her arms around my old 
neck like a child, and said she hoped we should 
all have many happy New Years together. 

‘T always told you Luiz de Almedia would never 
marry, till he found the one that was made for him ; 


53 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


and, as it is, they are as much alike as two peas,” 
replied John, as he pulled of¥ his boots by the 
kitchen stove. 

At the urgent request of Luiz and Alice, Mr. 
and Mrs. Milford, with Alan, had consented to 
pass a month at Valenca, while the Countess, 
Gloria, and Father Joseph went to Villa Moncao. 
The rainy season had filled the rivers and brooks, 
and revived all nature. Orange and lemon trees 
were bending with fruit and blossoms, and loading 
the air with sweet fragrance. 

In our cold New England climate, with its brief 
summers and long winters, one can scarcely im- 
agine the luxuriant beauty of the unchilled flowers 
that in this sunny land seem to bud and blossom 
of “their own sweet will.” Flowers and shrubs 
that can only be coaxed to bloom by artificial heat 
in cold climates, here spread and grow, till they 
are rooted out by the gardener, like so many 
weeds. 

This bright, romantic country had a charm for 
Alice and her uncle’s family. One fine morning, 
Mr. and Mrs. Milford went to Villa Moncao to 
visit the Countess while the young people started 
on donkeys for the mountains. 

“We must take a lunch with us,” said Alice. 

“We can get a good substantial lunch at a 


54 


EULALIA 


peasant's cottage,” replied Gloria. ‘It will be 
coarse food, Alice, but it will go to the hungry 
spot,” exclaimed Luiz. 

The donkeys trotted at a merry pace, passing 
groups of peasant women washing on the river 
bank. As they ascended the mountains, they 
passed the ruins of a picturesque old castle, al- 
most hidden with moss and ivy. 

“That was the castle of one of the Moorish lords, 
who owned nearly all this part of the country in 
the tenth century,” said Luiz. 

It was mid-day when they rode up to a peasant's 
cottage. “My good woman, can you give us 
something to eat,” asked Luiz, of a peasant who 
stood at the door. “I can give you the peasant's 
fare, with God's blessing,” she replied, as they 
followed her into the neat kitchen. Opening the 
door of another room, she invited them to rest, 
while she prepared a homely repast. Drawing out 
the table, she laid a snow white cloth on it, upon 
which she placed a pitcher of goat's milk with 
some brown bread, rich cheese, and a platter of 
fried sardines, with olives, a pitcher of claret wine, 
oranges, sweet lemons, grapes and figs. 

“Well, this is inviting,” exclaimed Alan, as they 
drew their chairs to the table. “I don't wonder 
that your peasants are such strong, healthy people, 
if this is their daily food.” 

“Yes, the land )rields her fruits and vegetables 


55 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


every month ; no one need go hungry in this coun- 
try/’ replied Luiz. 

"‘And what beautiful straight forms and lovely 
faces the women have/’ added Alice. 

^‘They have learned to carry themselves erect 
by carrying their burdens upon their heads. Out- 
door exercise keeps them in perfect health. 
Doctors do not find many patients among on 
peasantry,” responded Gloria. 

Luiz rewarded the woman for her hospitality, 
and he found the donkeys had not been forgotten 
by the man who brought them to the door. 

“How far is it to the Spanish boundary, my 
good man?” he asked, as he put a sovereign into 
his hand. “Duas milhas, senhor.” (Two miles, 
sir.) They soon reached the frontier, and rested 
at one of the soldiers’ barracks. It was sunset, 
and the bells of the deserted convents in the dis- 
tant hamlets chimed the hour of prayer. 

The moments were impressive, and they rode in 
silence. The moon also had risen before our 
tired travelers saw the welcome lights from the 
palace windows on the distant hills. 

Mr. Milford’s family had gone home. Luiz and 
Alice went as far as Lisbon with them, to enjoy 
a month at the gay capital. 

“Father Joseph, is it my imagination, or is it a 
reality, that Eulalia is failing? She is so languid,” 

56 


EULALIA 


asked the Countess a few days after their return 
to the old Gray Palace. 

fear it is a reality; as her mind strengthens, 
her body weakens. Doctor Nunes expressed that 
fear to me at the first, replied the priest. 

“I will not complain, since the Lord has given 
her back to brighten my pathway to the tomb,” 
said the mother, in a sad voice, as she arose to 
seek her daughter. Eulalia was reclining in an 
easy chair in her room, with her lap filled with 
flowers. Irene sat on a low stool by her side, ar- 
ranging the flowers into bouquets. After dinner, 
the Countess and Irene, accompanied by Father 
Joseph, carried fruit and dainties to the hospital. 

Gloria was reading to Henrique and her aunt 
in the chamber, which had been closed so many 
years. 

It was large and sunny, with a beautiful view 
of the river Douro and the hills beyond, where at 
sunset the chime bells would echo over the waters, 
and the moon rise above the church tower, until 
its shadow was reflected in the placid river. Eula- 
lia loved the room, and passed the afternoons and 
evenings there, and it was the pleasant retreat of 
the family. Eulalia was sleeping, and Gloria 
closed the book. 

''Henrique,” she said in a low tone, "what a 
great change has come over grandmother since 
aunty’s mind became clear.” 


57 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


“Yes,” replied Henrique, with a smile, “and it 
has made us all happier and more united. Irene 
sees and feels the change. She told Father Joseph 
that she felt she was needed now at home, and 
should not go back to the Convent while aunty 
lived. She feels as we do, that she is passing 
away.” 

“I wish father would be more reconciled and 
cheerful,” murmured Gloria. 

As the spring-days approached, Eulalia failed 
rapidly. It was at the close of a lovely Sabbath 
day, and the Countess sat by her daughter’s bed- 
side. 

“Mother,” she murmured, “how good God was 
to give me back to you for a little while before He 
calls me home, and I have had such a happy visit. 
I may come often from the spirit land to visit you. 
Don’t mourn for me, my own dear mother.” 

The family gathered around the bed, and the 
pure soul passed out of the body as gently as it 
came back to it, ten months before. They laid the 
dear form away in the vault in the little chapel, 
and a marble slab was laid over the place. 

Oh, how they missed her! It seemed as if an 
angel had left them. Even the gloomy Count felt 
her loss. 

“There never was a blessing that would remain 
in the old house; I believe it is fated,” he sighed 
after the funeral. 


58 


EULALIA 


'‘She stayed long enough to teach us how to live. 
God gave her a mission, and she has fulfilled it,^^ 
said his mother. “She brought sunshine and joy 
with it.’’ 

“Yes, Henrique, and the sunbeams which she 
has left will never depart ; they have made us bet- 
ter,” responded Gloria. 

“Amen,” exclaimed Father Joseph, crossing 
himself. 

“Gloria,” said the Countess, a few days after the 
burial, as they were together in the drawing- 
room, “I wish you would move into your aunt’s 
room. I don’t think I shall stay long now, and I 
want my children near me while I am here. I have 
not given you the care and affection which I ought 
to have given. I was thinking of my own sorrow, 
until God changed my selfish heart. My mother 
died when I was a child. I was sent to a Convent, 
and when I was eighteen, I was taken out of the 
Convent and married to my uncle. I never loved 
him, although he was very kind to me. He died 
when Eulalia was five years old. She was my 
idol, and while her mind wandered, my heart was 
dead, but since she was given back to me, I have 
been a different and a happier woman; and now 
we must be all we can to each pther while we 
live.” 

“Indeed, grandmother, we will make your life 

59 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


so pleasant that you will never be sad again/’ said 
Gloria. 

‘"Oh, grandmother, you have made and are 
making our lives happier/’ responded Henrique. 

“Irene will be our angel now, and take Eulalia’s 
place, will she not?” asked the Countess. The 
beautiful mute embraced her grandmother, and, 
with signs, she answered, “As long as God will let 
me. 


6o 


CHAPTER III 


HERR BERNER 


RANZE BERNER, as we have seen, was 



Gloria’s German and music teacher, a true 


type of the nation, tall and stout, with 
laughing blue eyes, and a glorious voice. The 
Count had engaged him, when he first came to 
Porto as Professor of the University, and Gloria 
liked him and told him all her troubles, and his 
cheering words made her heart lighter. He was 
very gentle to her brother, and sang for him, and 
told delightful stories of the Fatherland. 

Henrique would watch his coming, and some- 
times the brother and sister would hear his splen- 
did voice far away over the river, and, looking 
from one of the balconies, they could see the boat- 
man coming with Herr Berner, bringing his guitar, 
and singing some sweet German song. Every- 
one liked him, and even the Countess would con- 
descend to honor him with her presence and invite 
him to dine. 

“You fill the house with sunshine, and the chil- 
dren are never so happy as when you are with 
them. Professor,” said Father Joseph, one after- 


6i 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


noon, entering the music room where the pupils 
were singing a duet. 

The day before that on which our story com- 
menced, Herr Berner entered the music room, 
where Gloria sat weeping. She hastily wiped her 
eyes, and arose to meet her teacher. 

“Why do you weep, Little One?’' 

“Because I don’t want to marry my cousin,” 
answered Gloria frankly, and with an irrepressible 
sob. 

“And who says you shall ?” asked the Professor, 
with a comical smile. 

“My father writes that Luiz de Almedia is com- 
ing home with him, and I am to consider him as 
my future husband. I think the arrangement was 
made when we were children and my father wants 
me to marry him next May” 

“Father Joseph has told me all about your grief, 
dear one, and I said to the good priest, T have a 
great love in my heart for the child, but I have no 
fortune to give her.’ ” 

“Go, and tell her, and God bless you both,” said 
the kind Father. 

And Franze Berner put his arm around the 
young girl, and drew her to his side, and whis- 
pered loving and comforting words. 

“Can you find a place in your heart for your 
old teacher?” he asked at last. 

“Will you wait three years; then I shall be 


62 


HERR BERNER 


twenty-one/^ asked Gloria, laying her head upon 
his shoulder, and smiling through her tears.. 

‘Wait for you ! I would die for you, and no one 
shall take the dear one from me;” and, as he 
pressed her to his heart, he gave a defiant nod to 
the walls of the old music-room ; and Gloria knew 
and felt that she had found a noble heart, one who 
would love and cherish her; a heart that all the 
titles and wealth in the kingdom could not buy. 
They talked long and hopefully of their future 
lives together ; they knew there were many crosses 
and trials to bear, before that time would come, 
but their love and confidence made them strong 
and fearless. 

When Gloria went to vespers that evening, it 
was with a lighter and happier heart than she had 
ever known. As she left the little chapel, she met 
Father Joseph, and they sat on the stone seat in 
the old wall of the garden, conversing, while the 
dark shadow of the Gray Palace reflected on the 
golden river. 


It was one of those retired places which the 
traveler often sees in Portugal. A long two-story 
stone house with windows opening like doors on 
the verandas, which were filled with flowers. This 
rustic home stood in a large old-fashioned garden, 
where fruit trees, vegetables and flowers grew in 
wild profusion, and the whole was surrounded by 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


an old wall, in which were great rents caused by 
the earthquake at Lisbon, in 1755. These gaps 
were fastened together by pieces of iron which 
clasped each side. 

It was nearly sunset. Herr Berner had just 
parted from his visitors, Luiz de Almedia and 
Alice, and now sat upon the portico reading, for 
the third time, Gloria’s last letter. 

‘"Dear Heart,” he murmured, putting the letter 
back into his vest pocket, *‘it is as the Count de 
Valenca says, ‘A man feels better and stronger 
when he knows he is loved by a pure, noble 
woman’, — ^but what can the dear one find in a 
great, clumsy fellow, like me, to love?” 

‘'She finds what every wise woman will look for, 
an upright man, which is ‘the noblest work of 
God,’ ” replied his fond mother, coming behind 
his chair and stroking his curly head. 

“What good there is in me, I owe to God, and 
you, mother.” Franze Berner arose, and putting 
his arm around his mother, they entered the cozy 
drawing-room. Emilia had lighted the lamp, and 
Mrs. Berner read the evening chapter; after that 
they sang together a hymn of the Fatherland. 

One morning in June, as Gloria sat on one of 
the verandas, which overlooked the river, enjoy- 
ing the cool breeze and the merry songs of the 
peasant men and women, as they sailed by, bring- 
ing to the city the produce from their little farms, 

64 


HERR BERNER 


Father Joseph entered the room, with the morn- 
ing mail, and gave a letter to Gloria, which she 
hid in her bosom, until she had finished the bou- 
quets that Irene and the priest were to take to 
the hospital. She had thought, and was thinking 
now, of telling her grandmother about her happi- 
ness, when they were alone. From these pleasant 
thoughts, Gloria was startled by an exclamation 
from the Countess, who was reading a letter. 

'‘Viscount de Costello coming back to Portugal I 
Why, I thought he died long ago in Goa, India.^’ 

“Who is he? He is not coming here, is he, 
grandmother?’’ asked Gloria, in dismay. 

“He is your mother’s cousin, a wild, dissolute 
fellow, who went to India, fifteen years ago. He 
has made a large fortune there, so he says, and is 
coming home to remain.” 

“Is he married?” asked Gloria, nervously. 

“Your father writes that he intends to remodel 
the old place at Cintra, and keep ‘Bachelor’s 
Hall.’ ” 

Gloria had finished the last bouquet, and she 
hurried into the garden, to read her letter. 

“Dear Franze, you are better than all the gold 
and titles in the world; every letter you write 
comforts me, and I constantly find something new 
to admire in you.” Gloria entered the drawing- 
room, with a brighter light in her eye and a sweet- 
er smile upon her beautiful face. 

65 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


"'Henrique/* asked Father Joseph, '‘will you go 
with Irene and me to see some fine paintings on 
exhibition at the Crystal Palace?” 

“Are you not going to the hospital?” asked 
Henrique. “Yes, but we shall not stop long.” 

Gloria watched the carriage drive out of the 
avenue. When the great gates closed after it, she 
turned from the window, and, drawing an ottoman 
to the side of the Countess' chair, she laid her head 
upon her grandmother’s knee. 

“May I tell you a secret, grandmother?” 

“Certainly, my dear,” replied her grandmother, 
smiling, “but first tell me how long you have had 
this secret?” 

“Almost a year,” and Gloria lifted her head, and 
told all about her love, her hopes, and fears. 

“Dear child. Father Joseph has told me some- 
thing about this. I have been waiting for you to 
have confidence in me, to tell me all, and I re- 
joice in your choice. Herr Berner is a noble, un- 
selfish man. I will send him my congratulations.” 

“Oh, will you! Grandmother, you have made 
me very happy!” exclaimed Gloria, raining kisses 
upon the face of the Countess. 

“There, there, child, don’t smother me! — and 
we might as well write the letters now while the 
fire burns.” And the Countess arose to seat her- 
self at her writing-desk, and Gloria ran to her 
room for the same purpose. 


66 


HERR BERNER 


''Oh, grandmother, I would like to see Franze’s 
face when he reads your letter!” 

"It is time I made someone happy,” replied the 
Countess, with a sad smile. 

That evening at vespers, Gloria sat a long time 
in the little chapel, relating to Father Joseph all 
that had happened. 

"If father could see this as grandmother does, 
how happy I should be!” she exclaimed. 

"Your father does not know Herr Berner as well 
as the Countess does.” 

"He will learn to like Franze when he knows 
him ; no one could help liking him,” replied Gloria, 
proudly. 

Franze Berner received the letters on the next 
day, and with an exclamation of joy, he handed the 
Countess’ letter to his mother ; and, opening 
Gloria’s, eagerly devoured its contents. 

"If the Count would give his consent, I should 
be the happiest man in the world. You will ac- 
cept the Countess’ invitation with me, mother?” 

"Yes, there is no reason why I should not, I 
want to see Gloria, and I think the Countess and 
I will be warm friends.” 

And so it was arranged that they should pass a 
week at the old Gray Palace. Gloria was already 
at the station, an hour before the train arrived. 

"We shall have time, Manuel, to drive over to 
the barracks and leave grandmother’s parcels, for 

67 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


the sick soldiers,” she said, and they returned just 
as the cars came puffing into the station. 

“Is it really yourself, or is it your shadow?” 
asked Gloria, as Franze Berner pressed her hands 
between his, after introducing her to his little 
mother. 

“I have not seen Franze for almost a year; not 
since he went to Lisbon!” 

“You are constantly in his thoughts, and I do 
not wonder at it,” replied Mrs. Berner, looking 
fondly at Gloria. 

The Countess and Mrs. Berner became imme- 
diately firm friends. 

“I shall inform my son, when he returns, not 
that I think he will consent to the engagement, 
but because he ought to know of it, whatever the 
consequences may be ; and Gloria thinks as I do.” 

The Countess and Father Joseph took their 
visitors to every place of importance in the ancient 
city. They visited the old palace, in which Carlos 
Albert, the valiant captain of the Italian cause, 
found a refuge after resigning to his son, Victor 
Manuel. In the same palace, Pedro IV, King of 
Portugal, after resigning the throne to his daugh- 
ter, Maria, the Second, lived and died, giving his 
heart to the Church of the Lappa ; where it is seen 
preserved in alcohol; and to the same palace fled 
his son, Dom Pedro I, ex-Emperor of Brazil. Thus 


68 


HERR BERNER 


Porto was the refuge and had the affection of 
three noble, but unfortunate, monarchs. 

One day they visited the old Convent of Serro 
do Pilar, on the hill over the river, which had been 
the scene in the past of many a fearful conflict of 
arms. 

'‘It was here that General Wellington and his 
army stood, while preventing Bonaparte’s soldiers 
from crossing the river and taking the city,” said 
Father Joseph. 

“I suppose these embrasures, with the cannon 
and ball, are the same as the general left them?” 

“Just the same ; the Portuguese will not have 
them disturbed, and from these heights the sol- 
diers guarded the city,” replied the old priest. 

“The Spaniards would like to devour us,” 
laughed Gloria. 

Weeds and bushes were growing in the cells of 
the deserted convent, and were working their way 
to the sunlight through the broken iron bars of 
the windows. 

“Oh, if those cells could speak, what a sad story 
they might tell!” sighed Gloria. 

“It is a dark, dull life for the young, I know from 
experience,” responded her grandmother, as they 
crossed the bridge. 

“There is where I lost ten years of my life,” 
continued the Countess, sadly, looking down upon 

69 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


the ruins of the Convent of St. Maria, as they 
rode over the hill to the old Gray Palace. 

The days passed quietly. Gloria and Franze 
had many happy hours together in the pleasant 
garden, or while sailing upon the placid river. The 
Count returned the day before their visit ended. 
He greeted Herr Berner and his mother with gen- 
uine hospitality, and urged them to extend their 
visit. 

“We cannot find words to express the pleasure 
you have given us ; I shall return to my labor with 
greater zeal,’’ exclaimed Herr Berner, as they 
parted from the family the next day. Gloria had 
learned much during this visit to strengthen her 
in trials which were to come. “Dear child,” said 
the little mother, one day, putting her arms around 
Gloria, and kissing her, “How could Franze help 
loving you? I often long for a daughter,” and 
Franze’s last words: — The more we suffer for 
each other, the stronger our love will be.’ The 
sun is behind the clouds; have courage and look 
beyond. Dear Heart.” 

“Henrique,” said the Countess, the next day, 
Gloria is betrothed to Herr Berner; they will be 
married when she is twenty-one. I am pleased 
with the engagement.” 

She stopped to see what affect her words had 
upon her son. If an earthquake had struck the 


70 




HERR BERNER 


old Gray Palace, the Count of Villa Moncao 
would not have been more astonished. 

“Betrothed, and without my consent or knowl- 
edge, to a worthless foreigner! Why didn’t the 
sneaking fellow consult me?” he roared, as soon 
as he recovered from the shock. 

“Herr Berner is a gentleman, holding an hon- 
orable position, and with a salary sufficient to sat- 
isfy all needs. He wanted to ask your consent, 
but I knew you would not give it, and I advised 
him to wait until Gloria was twenty-one ; then she 
can command her part of her mother’s property. 
She has chosen wisely, and you have no right to 
interfere.” 

“I have a right to disown her if she marries 
without my consent. What, in thunder, has put 
it into the heads of Luiz and Gloria to wish to 
marry foreigners?” 

“It may be that the mania in the blood is work- 
ing that way to purify the race,” replied the Coun- 
tess, smiling. 

“Oh, nonsense, mother, the family of Villa Mon- 
cao has always been an honorable one, noted for 
its bravery and integrity.” 

“Also for its pride and selfishness,” responded 
his mother. 

The Count left the room in anger; and almost, 
for the first time in his life, sought Father Joseph’s 
advice and sympathy. 


71 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


“It is not my duty to interfere. ‘What God sees 
fit to join together, let no man put asunder,’ ” re- 
plied the old priest. 

The Count had formed the plan of a brilliant 
marriage for his daughter with the Viscount de 
Costello, and now that scheme was to be defeated. 

It was October, the vintage season had again re- 
turned, and the Count had gone to Villa Moncao. 
One sunny afternoon, the Countess and Gloria 
were alone in Eulalia’s chamber. Gloria was read- 
ing, and her grandmother was dozing in her arm 
chair. A sigh from the Countess caused Gloria to 
look up. She was startled by the thin, pale face. 
She thought of her dreary childhood, her unhappy 
marriage, and how dear she had been to them the 
past year. Tears filled her eyes, as she put aside 
her book, and drawing an ottoman to her grand- 
mother’s side, she laid her head upon her knee. 

The Countess opened her eyes, and looked down 
upon the tearful face. 

“What is it, darling?” she asked, tenderly strok- 
ing Gloria’s hair. 

“I was thinking how much you have suffered all 
your life.” 

“And this sorrow should have made me a better 
woman long ago, but for my selfish, rebellious 
heart,” sighed her grandmother. 

The door opened, and*Henrique, holding a bas- 
ket of tea roses and other flowers of the season. 


72 


HERR BERNER 


was wheeled in his invalid chair into the room by 
Irene, whose lovely face beamed with smiles. 

''She is an angel of love,” murmured the grand- 
mother, beckoning to Irene, whom she fondly em- 
braced; then seeing Henrique’s earnest look, she 
pressed a kiss upon his brow. 

"Oh, dear children, how much love you need in 
this world, and how little I have given you.” 

"Dear grandmother, think how much we have 
to be thankful for.” 

"I will, my dear boy, you have taught me many 
a lesson.” 

"I dreamed last night of Aunt Eulalia ; she 
looked very happy, and smiled at me,” said Hen- 
rique. 

"I dream of her often, and sometimes I feel her 
presence when I awake in the lonely hours of the 
night,” sighed the Countess. 

"Father Joseph,” asked Gloria, anxiously, that 
evening after vespers, "do you think grandmother 
is failing?” 

"Yes, my child, she has changed much since her 
daughter’s death.” 

"It may be, Gloria,” said her grandmother, one 
evening when they were alone, "when I have laid 
down my cross, and I feel that the time is very 
near, that your father may relent. He is coming 
home to-morrow. I will talk to him again; per- 
haps I was too harsh in asserting your rights; 


73 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


and, Gloria,” she added, “you will be lenient with 
your father; remember he has had many disap- 
pointments.” 

“I will do what is right; let the consequence be 
what it may.” 

“I know you will, my child.” 

“It was half past ten o’clock, Donna Gloria, and 
the Countess has not rang for her breakfast, and 
she always has it at ten,” said Sara, a few days 
after the above conversation. 

“Grandmother must have over slept this morn- 
ing ; I will go and see.” 

Gloria knocked lightly at the door, and, receiv- 
ing no response, she opened it, approaching the 
bed, gazed upon her grandmother’s face. A placid 
smile rested upon the worn features. 

“She has pleasant dreams,” thought Gloria, — 
then the stillness of the face alarmed her. 

“Grandmother,” she cried, laying her hand upon 
her forehead. It was cold. She had laid down her 
cross. 

Gloria made no outcry; but, kneeling by the 
bedside, buried her face in her hands, and thought 
of her loss. She arose and kissed the cold brow. 

“I will not be selfish and wish you back, dear 
grandmother,” she murmured, as she wiped her 
tearful eyes, and gently closing the door, she hur- 
ried to tell the sad news to Father Joseph. 

The Countess’ death was a great blow to her 


74 


HERR BERNER 


son. He loved his mother, and had she lived, he 
might have consented to Gloria^s choice. Friends 
of the family followed the body to its last resting- 
place in the family chapel. The vault was again 
opened, and the Countess’ body was laid by the 
side of Eulalia’s. 

In Portugal, the family never follow their dead 
to the grave, but remain at home and receive the 
consolation of friends after the burial. The Coun- 
tess left a will, in which she gave one-half of her 
income for the benefit of the poor inmates at the 
hospital of St. Antonio, and the other half was 
equally divided among her three grandchildren 
and Father Joseph. 

The customary days of mourning were over, 
the shutters were opened, and the sunbeams came 
again into the windows of the old Gray Palace ; but 
there was a vacant chair; a sadness in the hearts 
of the children ; and as Gloria looked at the gloomy 
face of her father, she yearned to put her arms 
around him and comfort him. 


75 


CHAPTER IV 


THE VISCOUNT DUARTE DE COSTELLO 

HE Easter days were approaching. Gloria, 



Manuel, and Sara were trimming the little 


* chapel with evergreen and flowers. Irene 
was laying garlands on the slabs over Eulalia’s and 
the Countess’ grave; Henrique sat in his invalid 
chair, watching the workers. The Count looked 
in at the opened door. The wistful glance of Hen- 
rique smote his heart ; going to his side, he asked, 
“How is your back to-day, Henrique?” 

“It is better,” he replied, with a bright smile. 

“But I never hear you complain, my dear boy.” 

“Christ suffered for the whole world; He never 
complained. Why should I?” 

As the Count looked at the dark circles under 
the hollow eyes of his son, he knew that Henrique 
passed many a sleepless night in pain, and a sud- 
den pang of remorse touched his heart. 

“I wish I could ease your suffering,” said his 
father, smoothing the damp hair on the pale brow. 

“You have already. Oh, dear father, if you 
would give us the love which grandmother gave 
us, I should be so happy.” 


76 


THE VISCOUNT 


“You shall have it, Henrique, and we will be 
better friends for the future.” 

That evening, instead of shutting himself in his 
room, the Count brought his papers and sat with 
his children and Father Joseph in the drawing- 
room ; and it was with a glad heart that they gave 
him their good-night kiss. 

“Henrique has found the key to unlock father’s 
heart at last,” said Gloria, joyfully, to Father 
Joseph, the next day. Father has written a letter 
to Luiz and Alice, inviting them to pass Easter 
with us.” 

“God moves in a mysterious way His wonders 
to perform,” repeated the old priest. Although the 
Count had never quite forgiven what he called 
“Luiz’s deceit,” yet he had always been on speak- 
ing terms with him. 

One evening, a few days after their arrival, the 
Count entered the drawing-room with his evening 
papers and a letter. 

“You remember Father Joseph, the Viscount de 
Costello, who went to India about fifteen years 
ago?” 

“I think I do,” he replied, laying down his paper. 

“Well, he has come back to Portugal, and is in 
Cintra, remodelling the old palace.” 

“That was a fine old place, and the scenery can- 
not be surpassed in this part of the country,” re- 
sponded Father Joseph. 


77 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


'T believe Cintra was called, The Eden of Portu- 
gal,’ by Lord Byron,” said Alice. '‘Luiz and I 
passed a delightful month there; we visited the 
Castle of Pena, the King’s Palace, and every place 
of interest.” 

“We rode by the Palace de Costello, Alice. 
Don’t you remember that long palace with the im- 
mense lawn, which you admired so much?” 

“Oh, yes, and where we stopped the carriage to 
get a view of the ocean,” exclaimed Alice. 

“He writes that he is coming to Porto on busi- 
ness, and will make us a visit. He may arrive any 
day.” 

Poor Gloria, a presentiment of evil, a dread to 
meet this man filled her heart with misery, and 
she was determined to keep out of his sight as 
much as possible. A letter from Herr Berner, 
saying, “that he would pass the Easter holidays 
with old friends in Porto,” enlivened Gloria’s 
spirits. Sometimes Luiz, Alice, and Gloria would 
ride into the country, and take Franze Berner into 
the carriage. He would be waiting or walking 
along the same road. These meetings were a com- 
fort to Gloria, and Franze declared that “stolen 
fruit was always the sweetest.” 

Easter was over. Luiz and Alice had gone. 
The Viscount had not arrived, and Gloria’s fears 
were somewhat dispelled. Spring had come, sweet 
warm winds were swaying the branches on the 

78 


THE VISCOUNT 


orange-trees, filling the air with perfume. The 
clock in the old tower of the little chapel had just 
struck four. Gloria closed her book, and, going to 
the window, she gazed upon the old familiar land- 
scape. The old-fashioned garden was a wilderness 
of sweets. Birds were singing on every tree, and 
mingled with their song was the wild music of the 
rushing river, as it dashed over the stones on its 
way to the ocean, but amid all nature’s treasures, 
Gloria felt lonely and depressed. 

“Can that be the Viscount de Costello coming 
up the avenue with father,” she asked, turning from 
the window. 

“Perhaps it is; your father has been expecting 
him for some time,” replied Father Joseph, closing 
the book he was reading. 

The dinner bell rang. Gloria was the last to en- 
ter the dining-room. The Count after introduc- 
ing her to the Viscount, looked anxiously at her 
pale face. 

“Are you ill, Gloria?” he asked. 

“No, father, I am quite well, thank you.” 

After the dessert was removed, they left the 
Count and Duarte de Costello to talk over their 
wine. 

Father Joseph had already formed his opinion 
of the Viscount’s past life. Indeed, a man’s face 
is generally an index of a man’s life; — sometimes 
the speech, — and often both. He was perhaps 


79 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


forty years old, middle-sized, and rather stout. 
It was not the features, but the expression of the 
face that was against him. The cunning malice in 
the keen black eye ; the sensuality in the thick lips, 
which were partly hidden by a black mustache. 

“I would not trust that man if I had to take his 
face for a recommendation,” said Henrique to 
Gloria, when they were again in the drawing- 
room. 

“By Jove, that is a queenly girl. Count,” ex- 
claimed the Viscount, when they were alone, “and 
she is as proud as she is beautiful,” continued he. 

“Yes, but it is not the kind of pride which suits 
me,” replied the Count, sipping his wine. “She 
intends to marry a poor German teacher. 

“When?” 

“In a year or more, when she is twenty-one; 
times have changed since you and I were boys. 
The convents which were used to educate and 
guard young girls until they were taken out to be 
married, have no place in the country now. The 
reign of Maria, the Second, completely changed 
the life of our women ; they are asserting what they 
call their rights ; and there are three young women 
studying medicine in the University at Lisbon. 
Several more have been admitted into the law 
school at Mafra, and they are trying to get access 
into the University at Coimbra.” 


8o 


THE VISCOUNT 


‘'Good Lord, you don’t mean it !” exclaimed the 
Viscount. 

“Braz Miranda came home from Mafra during 
Easter. He says some of the fellows can’t hold a 
candle to them in an argument, and,” continued 
the Count, “Braz says they mean business, and 
are as independent as you please.” 

“How do the boys like the petticoat students,” 
asked the Viscount. 

“Oh, Braz says some of the lazy ones are in- 
dignant, because they get laughed at when a pet- 
ticoat answers the question they can’t answer, but 
it has one good effect, it makes them study more.” 

“Do they call them petticoats?” 

“They used to, but Braz says they have left it off 
since the girls began to reply. Sometimes a fel- 
low student, in passing a girl student, would cry 
out, ‘How do you do. Petticoat,’ and she would 
reply, ‘Very well. Breeches.’ ” 

“That don’t sound much like our Portuguese 
girls, when we were boys,” said the Viscount, 
laughing. “What does Father Joseph say about 
it?” 

“Oh, Father Joseph is always peculiar, and 
Gloria can make him believe what she does. Why 
he says if God has given women the talent and 
ability, she ought to use it for the benefit of 
others.” 

“How about St. Paul? Don’t he command the 


8i 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


women to be silent and obey their superiors, or 
something of that sort?” 

“Just what Braz asked Father Joseph, who 
opened the Bible at Joel 2-28 : ‘And your sons and 
your daughters shall prophecy/ ” 

“I suppose the English have helped to bring 
about this change in our women,” continued the 
Count. “There are ten thousand or more in Lis- 
bon, and as many in Porto. My vineyards are 
leased to an English company. I reserve only 
enough wine for my family to use.” 

The bell was chiming for evening prayers. 
Duarte de Costello was standing by the drawing- 
room window. Henrique, leaning on Gloria’s arm, 
following Father Joseph and Irene, passed the 
window, and entered the chapel. 

“By Heavens, she is a trump; and I’ll win her 
at whatever the cost may be. She will be the finest 
piece of furniture I can put into the old palace,” 
he muttered. 

During the few days of the Viscount’s visit, 
Gloria felt the same disgust which Henrique had 
expressed. Sometimes, when they were walking 
in the garden, he would join them and try to con- 
verse with Gloria, but Henrique would always ex- 
press fatigue ; and Gloria, glad of an excuse, would 
attend her brother to his room, and there she 
would read to him until he slept. 

“Why don’t you and Henrique come into the 


82 



Father Joseph Entering the Chapel 













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THE VISCOUNT 


drawing-room now?” asked the Count, in a stern 
voice, one day. 

“Because, father, Henrique is sensitive and ner- 
vous before strangers.” 

“Can’t Irene or Father Joseph stay with him, 
and relieve you sometimes?” 

“But, father, Henrique is so accustomed to me, 
and I fear it will not be long before he will be be- 
yond our care.” 

“Where is he?” asked the Count, in a softer 
voice. 

“I left him in aunt’s room, while I went for this 
book. I am going to him now.” 

The Count entered the chamber with Gloria. 
Henrique sat in his invalid chair, with eyes half 
closed. He smiled and held out his hand as his 
father approached. 

“How are you to-day, Henrique ; any pain ?” 

“No, father, only a little weak. I shall be 
stronger soon.” 

“Do you take the medicine Doctor Nunez or- 
dered ?” 

“Yes, sir, and it has relieved my pain. 


“You have my consent, Duarte, but you will find 
it hard to persuade Gloria ; you see how she avoids 
you.” 

“Oh, that is no sign she does not like me. Some 
women take that way to blind those they do love, 

83 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


especially if they are betrothed to an inferior man, 
and want to give him up. I should say,” continued 
the Viscount, “that Gloria wants to, but don’t 
know how to cancel this hasty contract of mar- 
riage. Where is this German ragamuffin? And 
where did she find him?” 

“He was Gloria’s German and music teacher, 
but now he is a Professor in the University at 
Lisbon,” replied the Count. 

“Has the German asked your consent?” 

“He. has written to me, asking for it. I wrote 
to him that I should disinherit Gloria, if he mar- 
ried her.” 

“That was to the point. What did Gloria say 
to that?” 

“She has never mentioned his name to me. My 
mother told me of the engagement, and she sanc- 
tioned it a few weeks before she died.” 

Duarte de Costello’s life had been a wild one. 
In early life he had showed a love for gambling, 
until he had become a proficient gambler. He 
married a frail, but lovely, Italian girl, who, when 
fortune attended him in the gambler’s room, he 
treated with apparent kindness; but when ill-luck 
overtook him, all his rage fell upon her innocent 
head. One night, after he had lost his last dollar 
at the gambling-table, Duarte de Costello started 
to his feet, and gazed upon the group of mad play- 
ers. “Ruined, a ruined gambler !” he shrieked. 

84 


THE VISCOUNT 


‘'Not so, Viscount,” whispered the banker's rake, 
“you have that pretty wife ; stake on her, sign this 
paper. I’ll lend you one hundred pounds.” With 
a trembling hand he signed the paper. He won. 
He doubled his last stake, and won again and 
again. It was strange luck. He played on and on. 
At last, the clock struck the hour for closing. 
Duarte de Costello rushed to his lodgings. 

“Lou,” he shouted, “wake up, and listen to the 
unheard of luck I’ve had tonight.” 

He bent over the thin face. The eyes were half 
closed. No breath came from the tightly-drawn 
lips. Luisa de Costello was dead. Coroner’s ver- 
dict, consumption. God’s verdict, cruelty and 
starvation. And this is a glimpse of the character 
of the Viscount de Costello. Why should not the 
pure, the noble and brave Gloria Mello, recoil 
from such a monster? 

“Well, Count, as you have concluded to go to 
Cintra with me next week, can’t we induce Donna 
Gloria to go also? 

“You can ask her; but I doubt if she would 
leave Henrique. She will not leave him even to 
come into the drawing-room.” 

The Count was called away, and the Viscount 
stood alone by the window, gazing at Gloria, who 
was walking in the garden, with Irene. 

“Yes, by Jove, I’ll tame the vixen when I have 
the chance. I believe she has bewitched me. I 


85 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


know I’ve been a devil, but that splendid woman 
could make almost a saint of me. She will be a 
hard prize to win, but she is worth the toil.” 

“No, father, it will only worry Henrique to ask 
him, and I will not go; that is decided,” replied 
Gloria, firmly. 

“I am sure Henrique will not be so selfish as to 
deny you the pleasure this visit to Cintra would 
give you,” added the Count. 

“My brother is far from being selfish, and he 
well knows that my greatest pleasure is to make 
him happy,” replied Gloria, coldly. 

“She has got a will of her own ; there is ‘no go’ 
there, when she says so,” exclaimed the Count, as 
Gloria closed the door behind her. 

“She will go sometime,” replied the Viscount, 
and an ugly gleam shone in his eye. 


86 


CHAPTER V 


THE PALACE OF THE VISCOUNT DE COSTELLO 

HE palace of the ancestors of Duarte de 



Costello was a magnificent place. The bat- 


^ tlements around the roof gave it a rural 
aspect, as it was situated on a large lawn, which, 
unlike other old palaces in Portugal, was bordered 
with shrubbery, as if the inmates wished the pass- 
ers-by to enjoy the beautiful place, while beyond 
the woods and fields behind the palace, glittered 
the blue ocean. 

It was early afternoon when the carriage con- 
taining the Count and Viscount drove up the wide 
avenue to the palace. 

“Well, Duarte, this is a paradise!'’ exclaimed 
the Count, looking around him. 

“Do you wonder that I want Gloria to adorn 
this blissful place, and enjoy its pleasures with 


“No, she ought to listen to reason.” 

The two men stood gazing on the landscape, or 
rather the Count gazed, the Viscount was reading 
the latter’s face. 


87 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


“A rich addition to the house of Villa Moncao, 
he thinks.” 

“Gloria must see this enchanting view. It may- 
work like magic,” soliloquized the Count. 

“She will come, she will see; and I will con- 
quer,” exclaimed the Viscount, twisting his 
mustache, and with a cunning gleam in his eyes. 

The main entrance of the palace opened into a 
wide hall, ascending the broad, oaken stairs, which 
entered the picture gallery. The walls were cov- 
ered with old family portraits, with here and there 
a bright landscape, the work of some noted artist. 
Beyond the gallery was a suite of rooms. The 
lofty fresco ceiling and bright panelled walls, the 
large windows, rich in colored glass, and the 
costly furniture, gave the rooms a royal aspect. 

“Here are two apartments which I have pre- 
pared for my mate, my bird,” laughed the Vis- 
count, drawing aside the heavy curtains. One was 
a large room with a Turkish carpet and rich fur- 
niture, but beyond the high arch was a ladies’ 
boudoir, a fairy-like place, with couches and ot- 
tomans in pale blue and golden silk, with large 
mirrors and delicate costly ornaments on the man- 
tle. A bird was singing in its cage in the midst 
of rare plants and ferns. It was a fine contrast to 
the drawing-room, which opened into it. 

“You have an artistic eye, Duarte, and have 


88 


THE PALACE 


studied a woman’s taste in arranging this room.” 

“Do you think Gloria will like it?” 

“A woman must be an idiot not to like it,” he 
replied. 

The Count followed his host through the palace, 
admiring the grand rooms. In the upper story 
the relics of the Viscount’s ancestors had been 
carried; oaken chests and bedsteads with their 
faded damask curtains, and strange but beautiful 
Moorish carvings, high-backed chairs with leather 
seats and brass nails ; Moorish pottery and vases. 
This ancient furniture gave the room the aspect 
of a home in olden time. 

“Come away from that old rubbish and see how 
bright I’ve made the little chapel at the gate. I 
am glad my ancestors had sense enough not to 
join it to the palace. I would just as soon have a 
graveyard in my house as to have a church. That 
clock and those chime bells I imported,” con- 
tinued the Viscount, twisting his mustache with 
an important air, as they stood surveying the ivy- 
covered tower. 

There we will leave them, and return to the Gray 
Palace. Father Joseph and Irene were in the gar- 
den, Henrique lay upon the lounge in Eulalia’s 
chamber, and Gloria sat upon an ottoman by his 
side. 

“And you feel better, to-day, Henrique ?” 

“Yes, sister, I am glad Viscount de Costello 

89 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


has gone. I hope I shall never see him again. 
His presence irritated me. Gloria, I am afraid 
that he will try to persuade father to harass you 
into a marriage with him. I know you would 
never yield, but I cannot bear the thought of his 
annoying you. Oh, my dear sister,” continued he, 
‘T would be so happy; I could die so peacefully, 
if I could leave you in the care of Herr Berner; if 
you could love each other.” A tear trembled on 
Henrique’s eye-lids, and found an answering one 
on Gloria’s. 

“Henrique, I should have told you before, but 
I was afraid you would think that I loved you less. 
Herr Berner does love me, and I have promised to 
be his wife, when I am twenty-one.” 

A surprised and joyful expression lighted his 
wan face, and drawing Gloria’s face to his, he 
kissed her, as he whispered : 

“Tell me all about it, my sweet sister.” 

Oh, what a relief to Gloria’s sad heart, to know 
that this had been her brother’s dearest wish. 
She told him all, in the waning afternoon, and, as 
she finished, she added, “I wish now I had told 
you long ago, I fear you have worried about me.” 

“Never before Duarte de Costello came,” replied 
Henrique, with a bright smile; “and you have 
told me soon enough, dear sister.” 

As the long summer days approached, Henrique 
grew more languid. One day, when speaking of 


90 


THE PALACE 


his death and meeting the loved ones gone before, 
tears gathered in Gloria’s eyes, and one fell upon 
his brow. 

‘'Sister Gloria, don’t weep for me, but rejoice! 
I shall be free from pain, from sorrow and sin, and 
happy with Christ. You would not hold me here, 
when He calls me ?” 

The Count returned that evening, and met Doc- 
tor Nunez leaving the palace. 

“He will linger but a day or two,” was the doc- 
tor’s reply to the anxious inquiry. The Count 
hastened to his son’s bedside. Henrique put up 
his arms, with a yearning cry, which touched an 
answering cord in the father’s heart, that had 
never before been awakened, and this proud, sel- 
fish man was humbled. 

“Oh, my boy, forgive me ; would that I had been 
a better father to you I” 

“I have nothing to forgive. I have loved you 
all my life, dear father. I would like to see Luiz 
and Alice, and my beloved teacher, Herr Berner, 
father,” whispered the dying boy, unclasping his 
arms from his father’s neck. 

“Send a telegram to Luiz and Herr Berner, 
Gloria,” said the Count, in a husky voice, as he 
went to his room. 

The morning light brought Luiz and Alice. 
Father Joseph was reading the comforting words 
of our Saviour’s last prayer. The Count sat at 


91 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


the foot of the bed, with bowed head. Irene was 
by his side. Luiz and Alice knelt by Father 
Joseph’s side, and Gloria’s arm was under the 
pillow supporting Henrique’s head. The door was 
gently opened, and Herr Berner softly entered the 
room. The laughing blue eyes were changed to 
a sad, troubled expression. 

He bent his noble head in answering sympathy 
to the silent group, and taking the cold hand 
which Henrique extended, pressed it to his lips, 
and knelt by Gloria’s side. The dying boy laid the 
hand over that of Gloria, and with a pleading look 
at his father’s face, he feebly whispered, — 

“Dear father, give them your blessing.” One 
convulsive sigh, and the suffering body was for- 
ever at rest. Gloria closed the sweet eyes, and 
pressed one long lingering kiss upon the dear face. 
Herr Berner put his arm around her, and led her 
into the garden. 

Henrique’s body was laid by the side of his 
mother. Gloria had told Franze Berner of their 
last conversation, and Henrique’s last words sent 
a joyful throb through the hearts of both. 

The Count had given his hand at parting, and 
Herr Berner returned to Lisbon to love, to trust, 
and wait. 

Duarte de Costello had come and gone. The 
contrast in the mien of these two men was very 
conspicuous, when they were brought together. 


92 


THE PALACE 


One repulsive, and the other attractive. The 
Count noticed it; and even the Viscount felt this 
inferiority. 

“You are, by a devilish sight, the best looking 
mate for my bird; but my cage will make up for 
that deficiency,'' he muttered. 

Luiz and Alice had gone, and the family at the 
Gray Palace were preparing for Villa Moncao. 
Henrique's death had caused the Count to think. 
He had long seen the beautiful love his children 
had for each other, but he had never felt the power 
of that filial love, until now. Henrique had loosed 
his heart-strings, and, like King Agrippa, he was 
almost persuaded to become a Christian, and give 
his consent to Herr Berner. 

They were taking their after-dinner walk. Irene 
walked by Father Joseph's side, and Gloria fol- 
lowed, leaning on her father's arm. 

“Herr Berner is about the finest looking man I 
ever saw," said the Count, abruptly. It was the 
first time he had mentioned his name to her. A 
bright glow spread over Gloria's face. 

“And he is as good as he looks," she replied. 

“I have no doubt of it, but he has no title, no 
fortune." 

“Is that a sin. Father? He has a good salary, 
and is highly esteemed by the nobility in Lisbon, 
even our good and gracious Queen has called with 
the Princes to see his mother." 


93 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


‘‘That does speak well of him,” said the Count, 
thoughtfully. 

The rainy season was over. The Count de Val- 
enca, with Alice and little Luiz had gone to Italy 
to pass the winter, and the Count’s family had re- 
turned to Porto. 

“Father Joseph, don’t you think father likes 
Franze?” asked Gloria, one day. 

“Yes,” replied the old priest, “your father asked 
me yesterday what I thought of Herr Berner; 
and if that wicked Duarte de Costello would let 
him alone, he would not oppose your marriage 
to him.” The Count was indeed trying to con- 
quer his ambitious desire for more wealth. 

“I would like to see the Sisters in the Convent, 
if you and Gloria can spare me,” expressed Irene 
to her father, one day. 

“Certainly, she needs a change, father, although 
we shall miss her very much.” 

Gloria and the Count accompanied Irene to 
Zamora, Spain, where she was joyfully received by 
the Sisters. 

“You will write often, Irene,” motioned Gloria 
to her sister, as they embraced each other. 

A few days after their return. Father Joseph 
received a letter from his only brother at Fayal, 
Azores Islands, urging him to visit them; his 
health was failing and he was anxious to see him. 

“It is only a two days’ voyage,” said the Count. 


94 


THE PALACE 


The old priest looked at Gloria, whose face was 
very pale. 

“How could she let him go so far away?” In 
six months she would be twenty-one. She would 
need him then, and what might happen before that 
time? What trials? What sorrows? She went 
into the little chapel, and knelt before the altar. 

“I will trust in God ; take up my cross, and not 
be selfish, but brave and true,” sobbed Gloria. 

“Amen!” responded the old priest, taking her 
hand, and leading her into the garden. 

“Duty calls, and you must go, dear Father 
Joseph.” 

“You know where to look for help and com- 
fort. I shall carry you every day to God in my 
prayers. I know when you need me, and will re- 
turn in season.” 

“Father Joseph, if God draws near to us, when 
we draw near to Him, do not the spirits of those 
we love, who have gone to Him, come to us, also, 
when we think of them? Do we not draw them 
to us, and they draw us to them?” 

“Yes, my child, does not St. Paul say, 'Are they 
not all ministering spirits sent forth to minister 
to those who are heirs of salvation?^ God often 
takes the souls we love here, that their spirits 
may draw ours to them; and thus to Him. Oh 
the love, the mercy and goodness of God is past 
understanding. Sometimes we get a glimpse of 


95 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


it, and then the soul leaps upward for a stronger 
light, and our Heavenly Father says, ‘Wait, child, 
I will give what is sufficient for you on earth ; but 
you could not bear the full depth of my love ; like 
the sun it would dazzle you. Wait, child, until I 
call you home.’ ” 

With these comforting words, Gloria dried her 
tears and went to work packing Father Joseph’s 
trunk with articles needed for the voyage. The 
morning after the priest’s departure, Gloria awoke 
with a sense of loneliness. She lay thinking over 
all that had passed since Luiz’s marriage. How 
many changes in that short time. She heard her 
father leave his room, and, hastily dressing, met 
him, with a bright smile, in the little breakfast 
room. 

“We are all alone now, father,” she said, in a 
gay tone, as she kissed his brow, “and I will try 
to make you happy.” . 

Gloria studied his every wish. She read or 
played and sang for him, and when they rode, or 
walked, in the park around the Crystal Palace, he 
was proud of the attention she drew from the 
passers-by ; but Gloria seemed unconscious of their 
admiration. 

One evening, a few weeks before Carnival, a 
servant entered the drawing-room with the letters 
and papers. There was a letter from Father 
Joseph; one from Irene, and another from Herr 

96 


THE PALACE 


Berner, which Gloria put in the bosom of her 
dress. 

“A letter for you, father,’’ said she, growing pale, 
on seeing the post-mark. The Count laid down his 
paper and opened the letter. 

'‘Viscount de Costello is coming to Porto, to 
pass the Carnival with us,” said the Count, throw- 
ing the letter upon the table, with a frown. 

“Shall I read you Father Joseph’s, and Irene’s 
letters ?” 

“Yes, Gloria.” 

They were full of peace and love. She laid them 
upon the table. 

“I feel weary, and if you don’t want me, I think 
I will go to my room, father.” 

“Yes, child, go,” said the Count, kissing her, as 
she bid him good night. 

She drew the letter from her bosom, and read 
Franze Berner’s cheering words. 

“I am counting the months now, dearest, when 
I shall claim you as all my own.” 

“Never a joy without a sorrow,” murmured 
Gloria. “Oh, if that man would stay away ! Father 
and I are so happy together, and now, like an evil 
spirit, he is coming between us. 

The Carnival, also called shrove-tide, and (En- 
trudo) Entrusion, which means to play tricks, to 
make merry, commences on the Tuesday before 
Lent, and continues one week. The Portuguese 


97 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


are a fun-loving people, generous and open-heart- 
ed, and they live as if they were determined to get 
all the enjoyment they can out of life. Their 
greatest ambition is to be happy, and entertain 
each other. 

The Carnival is a Roman Catholic festival, and 
to a stranger, who has never seen Entrusion, the 
first time, it may seem rude, but it is the custom of 
the country, and “When you are with Romans, 
you must do as the Romans do.” During Carni- 
val, a gentleman may pass you on the street. He 
has a large tube of scented water, which he will 
squirt in your face, which will startle you and 
cause you to make some remark, and he will say, 
“I perceive that the lady is a stranger, you must 
pay me in my own coin,” and then he will present 
her with a tube of scented water, a number of 
which he carries in his pocket. 

Again, a boy will meet a woman, who is a 
stranger, and will politely ask her to let him take 
a paper from her back, and, at the same time, he 
will pin a paper with these words written upon it, 
‘T am very foolish,” or, “I want a husband,” and 
he will present her with a piece of paper, which he 
pretends he has taken from the back of her dress, 
while some roguish girl, at the window above, will 
drop, on a piece of thread, a paper dunce hat, so 
that it will fall upon the top of her bonnet. But 
the best way I enjoy the Carnival is to go on the 

98 


THE PALACE 


veranda of a window in the principal streets, where 
the people and the procession pass. There, with 
a syringe and a pail of scented water, and small 
paper bags of flour, peas, and beans, you can pelt 
the passers-by and be out of their reach, and 
enjoy the fun, see the procession and the carriages 
of the Masquerade, followed by the band of droll 
musicians. 

After the theatre there are masquerade balls, 
which do not close until three or four o’clock in 
the morning ; and with all this merry-making, there 
is also great feasting, on the last three days the 
Carnival is at its height. After Entrusion “the 
Gallegos,” men from the north of Spain, sweep 
from the streets, at night, the lupins, peas and 
beans, and after this the Portuguese begin to pre- 
pare for Easter. 

“You know, you gave me your consent. Count, 
if I could win her; and,” he added, “the coast is 
clear. I’ll have a fair trial now, that sanctified old 
priest is out of my path.” 

Gloria treated the Viscount coldly, and answered 
his questions in monosyllables. One afternoon, 
during the Carnival, while walking with her father 
in the public park, Duarte de Costello came to 
her side. 

“My dear Miss Mello,” he asked, simpering, “are 
you aware that all the ladies are dying of envy? 


99 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


You are the brightest star among them; you 
eclipse them all.” 

“Then, I think it is time for me to leave. 
Father,” she added, taking 'her father’s arm, “I 
am tired ; if you wish to remain longer, I will rest 
in the carriage.” 

The Count frowned as he lead Gloria to the 
carriage. The father and daughter were again 
drifting apart. 

“Proud as Lucifer! Curse the vixen; if I can 
get her to Cintra, I’ll tame her,” grumbled the 
Viscount. 

“I would like to know what that evil-face, 
Duarte de Costello, wants around here He is tor- 
menting the life out of Donna Gloria,” said Sara 
to Manuel one afternoon, as the Viscount left the 
room after fumbling over the letters and papers, 
which Manuel had just brought in. 

“Why, don’t you know? He is trying to catch 
Donna Gloria,” replied Joan. 

“She is too sensible to marry that fellow; she 
is engaged to Herr Berner.” 

“How do you knew?” asked Manuel. 

“Haven’t I got eyes? I’ve heard a word here 
and there. I’ve put this and that together, and 
I’ve jumped right into the true state of affairs,” 
answered Sara, with a nod. 

“But, the Viscount has one of the finest palaces 
in Portugal, and he has fitted it up in grand style. 


lOO 


THE PALACE 


I read a notice of it in the paper/^ continued 
Manuel. 

“Donna Gloria will never 'marry a hog for his 
sty’; besides,” added Sara, “I’ve heard that when 
he was a young man, he was the greatest repro- 
bate in the country. His father sent him to India, 
and he don’t look as if he had improved any.’* 

“Whew !” whistled Manuel. 

“Only one letter for me from Irene?” said 
Gloria, with a sad look on her pale face. 

“Are these all the papers, Manuel ?” 

“The Viscount took some of them to the draw- 
ing-room.” 

“St. Peter !” exclaimed Manuel, after Gloria had 
left the room, “I believe that rascal took Gloria’s 
letter; the one with the post-mark 'Lisbon.’ I 
wish the devil would fly away with him, if he didn’t 
carry him more than a mile a minute.” 

Easter had come again, and what changes had 
one short year brought with it. Gloria had no 
heart to trim the little chapel, and, indeed, there 
was no one to enjoy the festival; but she laid 
flowers on the slabs, and watered those on Hen- 
rique’s grave with her tears. 

“Gloria,” said the Count one evening, when they 
were alone in the drawing-room, “you are moping 
yourself to death, you need a change.” 

“Father Joseph and Irene will be here in the 
summer.” 


lOI 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


“It will be a month before summer is here; you 
have grown thin and pale. I insist upon your go- 
ing to Italy or Cintra, so decide which it shall be, 
and tell me to-morrow.” 

A glad, blissful thought came to Gloria. 

“Yes, I will go to Cintra, only eight miles away. 
But why has he not written, or answered my let- 
ters?” she murmured. “Can it be possible that 
he is forgetting me? Perhaps they were lost or 
stolen.” 

Gloria did not borrow trouble, but a weight of 
fear and sorrow had long rested over her heart. 
What a pity that souls cannot commune without 
poor words ; how much sorrow and suspense 
would be saved. 

“Gloria has concluded to go to Cintra next 
week,” said the Count to Duarte de Costello, as 
they were conversing over their wine after dinner, 
the next day. 

“That is good news ; I shall win her at last !” 
exclaimed the Viscount, refilling his glass. 

“Here, Count, drink our health.” 

“Don’t be too sure; women, you know, are 
whimsical. I described your palace to her. It may 
be curiosity.” 

“Well, I shall keep my bird, if I catch her, in 
my cage,” replied the Viscount, laughing. 

“Mother, I shall go to Porto to-morrow. I 
cannot bear this suspense any longer. I must 


102 


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Botanical Garden of Coimbra University 


THE PALACE 


know the worst !” exclaimed Franze Berner, as he 
sat by the vine-covered window in his little study, 
the day before Gloria was to start for Cintra. She 
was ever in his thoughts, and now the time was 
drawing near when she had promised to be his 
wife, and no word from her. 

‘T shall not take a trunk, only the large valise,” 
said Gloria, giving Sara the few articles she would 
need, ‘^and we are to start early, so, good night.” 

“Donna Gloria has some plan that nobody 
knows anything about,” said Sara to Manuel, as 
she entered the kitchen. 

“She won’t take hardly any clothing, and is as 
cheerful as a bird.” 

“Going to Italy?” 

“Don’t know, Manuel ; can’t tell until I get home 
again ; may go to Jerusalem.” 

It was a lovely morning, the cars had reached 
Coimbra, where they waited half an hour for the 
train from Lisbon to pass. The Count and Duarte 
de Costello alighted to lunch. Sara brought a 
lunch, with a cup of tea, which the Count had sent 
to Gloria, who was watching some students from 
the Coimbra University in their long cloaks and 
bare heads. They had come to the station to meet, 
or part, with friends. At last the whistle an- 
nounced the coming of the cars, and the passen- 
gers entered their compartments. 

Gloria cast her eyes at the windows, as the train 


103 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


slowly passed. A start, a faint cry escaped her 
lips, and she fell back upon the seat. 

“What is it?’’ asked Sara, looking at her pale 
face, in alarm. 

“It is nothing!” replied Gloria, laying her head 
upon the cushion which Sara put there. 

“Surely it was Franze’s face, with his arms 
folded, and his head bowed, but how weary and 
sad he looked,” she murmured. 

The clock in the tower of the chapel struck four, 
as Herr Berner walked up the avenue to the old 
Gray Palace. He looked up at the drawing-room 
windows; the shutters were closed. He rang the 
bell ; no one answered. He rang again, and again ; 
all was silent. He sat upon the old stone seat in 
the wall, and looked down upon the Douro river, 
and thought of the many times she had sat there 
and watched for him. He wandered through the 
garden and thought of Henrique’s dying words, 
and of his last walk there with Gloria, clinging 
to his side. 

Yes, the great-hearted Franze Berner looked 
upon all these dear, familiar objects, sacred to him 
for Gloria’s sake, and tears sprang to his eyes. 
He had never loved as he loved Gloria. 

“I just worship her; everything she touches 
seems purer for it,” he murmured. 

He went to the Palace the next morning, and 
found Manuel in the garden. All he could tell him 


104 


THE PALACE 


was “that the Count and Viscount, with Gloria and 
Sara, went away yesterday. He did not know 
where, but he thought to Italy.’’ 

With a heavy heart, Franze Berner took the 
evening train for Lisbon, and reached the capital 
at early dawn. 

“I do not believe she has left the country, and I 
will never give her up, mother,” he exclaimed. 

“Have patience a little longer, my son. I am 
sure you will hear from Gloria soon.” 

“But, mother, I fear the Count is trying to force 
her to marry that blackguard, and it enrages me 
when I think of their tormenting her.” 

“Next month, when Gloria is free to leave her 
father, I am certain she will send for you; or, she 
will come to you.” 

“You are a good comforter, my little mother,” 
and he caught his mother’s hand, which was 
smoothing back the thick curls from the broad 
forehead, as he laid upon the lounge, and kissing 
it, pressed it within his own. 

And Gloria : — we left her with face half hidden 
in her traveling shawl. She was certain Herr Ber- 
ner was going to seek her. He had not received 
her letters. How sad he would feel when he heard 
she had gone, and in the Viscount’s company. She 
believed he had stolen her letters; and, with this 
thought, Gloria sat up, with compressed lips, and 
a determined mien. She looked at Duarte de Cos- 


105 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


tello, as he sat by the window, with his chin upon 
his breast, sleeping and snoring. 

They were near Lisbon. The cars flew past a 
field where hundreds of horses were grazing; an- 
other where a herd of swine were feeding. They 
passed the city walls, the little hamlet of Bemfica, 
and reached Cintra at dusk. 

A coach and servant in livery were at the sta- 
tion. Lights were blazing through the windows 
of the palace, as the coach drove to the main en- 
trance. Duarte de Costello opened the door, and 
sprang out, leading the way into the palace. 

“Maria, show Donna Gloria and her maid to 
her room.” Turning to Gloria, he added, “With 
great pleasure, I welcome you to my palace, and 
your father and I will await you in the dining- 
room.” 

Gloria looked at him, with a half-amused, half- 
contemptuous expression. His manner and speech 
had taken another form; one of possession and 
authority. The excitement of the journey had 
given Gloria a nervous headache. 

“Sara, I am very tired and shall not go down; 
tell my father and the Viscount they must ex- 
cuse me.” 

She said her evening prayer, and then sought 
her pillow, not to sleep, but to think. 

“What had they brought her there for?” 

“What had she come there for?” 


io6 


THE PALACE 


Sara entered, bringing a light supper. She 
drank a cup of tea, and sent the food away, un- 
tasted. She tried to sleep, but slumber had for- 
saken her eyelids. She arose, threw open the win- 
dow, and gazed upon the planets which God had 
hung in space, and upon the grand milky-way. She 
felt the might and the love of God, and knew that 
He was directing her. In God and herself she 
would trust. She again sought her couch, and 
forgot her sorrow in sleep. 

It was late when Gloria awoke the next morn- 
ing, and she laid, gazing around the room. The 
curtains at the windows and doors, and the canopy 
of the bed were of the same rich material, blending 
with the rugs and furniture, but Gloria’s thoughts 
were far away from the objects around her. She 
arose, and putting on a silken morning wrapper, 
which Sara brought, she descended the stairs to 
the breakfast room. 

“Has father and the Viscount had their break- 
fast, Sara?” she asked, sipping her coffee. 

“Yes, the Count told me not to disturb you. 
They have gone to the village, and will not be back 
until noon. This is a lovely place, Donna Gloria,” 
continued Sara, “but it is not so home-like, and I 
do not feel as safe here as I do at the old Gray 
Palace. Here are no gates to lock at night. I 
heard a rat, and thought it was a robber; I never 


107 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


slept a blessed wink the whole night/’ muttered 
Sara, yawning. 

‘‘You had better sleep in the day, and guard the 
house at night ; you would make a fine watchman,” 
laughed Gloria. 

“I suppose I’ll get used to it. The first night 
you sleep in a strange place, one always feels 
timid,” and she gave another yawn. 

A week had nearly passed, and Gloria saw no 
way to carry out her plan. But one afternoon her 
heart leaped with joy and hope, when the Viscount 
entered the ' drawing-room, with the question, 
“What do you think. Count, of going to see the 
Castle on Mt. Pena, to-morrow? Gloria will have 
a fine chance to view the landscape. You can 
almost see the walls of Lisbon.” 

“Would you like to go, Gloria?” 

“Yes, father, I should enjoy it; I have heard so 
much about that old Moorish castle.” 

“Then, we will go,” said the Viscount, glad to 
think he had proposed something to give her 
pleasure. 

“The old guardsman will be glad to tell you all 
you want to know, and we must take a lunch, and 
climb the mountain on donkeys. Bernardo,” con- 
tinued the Viscount, as a servant entered the room 
with the mail, “Go to the village and tell Pedro 
Garra to send four donkeys to the palace by ten 


io8 


Mt. Pena/’ The Old Castle Built by the Moors 




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THE PALACE 


o’clock to-morrow morning. Gloria was up bright 
and early. She seemed like another person. 

*^She is beginning to like me,” said the Viscount, 
twisting his mustache and knocking the ashes 
from his cigar, as he strutted back and forth on the 
veranda. 

'Tt may be,” said the Count, with a troubled 
face, as he tipped back in his chair, but he remem- 
bered the look of disgust on Gloria’s face when 
Duarte de Costello unlocked the safe and laid the 
family jewels upon the table, the coronet, rings, 
bracelets and brooches, blazing with diamonds and 
precious stones. 

'These are for you, Donna Gloria,” he said. 

"Thank you, I have my mother’s ; I never cared 
for jewels; there are more valuable treasures.” 

"I admit that I see one before me,” he respond- 
ed, and the loving glance he threw at Gloria gave 
him such a silly, sheepish look that she turned 
away to hide her smile. It was very evident that the 
Viscount had never studied the art of making love 
to a lady. Sara had swung the large lunch-basket 
over the donkey’s back, and they started to ascend 
the beautiful mountain path, bounded by the walls 
of noblemen’s gardens, with large grated windows, 
through which came a glimpse of the loveliness 
within, mingled with the sweet fragrance of flow- 
ers. 

They reached the massive iron gates, where they 
109 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


dismounted, leaving the donkeys to the care of a 
guardsman. Gloria leaned over the battlement, 
and surveyed the charming landscape. The little 
hamlet of Cintra, with roofs half hidden by the 
tree-tops, the palace of Costello with its church 
tower, nestled amid shrubbery and orchards in 
the valley, and the ocean was seen in the distant 
horizon ; but the long, winding road was what fas- 
cinated Gloria, and the view sent a thrill through 
her heart. Her father and the Viscount were wan- 
dering through the palace. 

"‘Where does that road lead V she asked the old 
man. 

“It is the direct road to Lisbon, and is called 
the King’s Highway. If you will come up into the 
tower with me, you can see the walls of the city 
through the spy-glass.” Gloria mounted the 
stairs, and reached the highest tower in the old 
castle. 

“Where does the road enter Cintra?” 

“It is the first road to the right after you leave 
the palace of Costello. You will see the sign-board 
when you go down the mountain, ‘Lisbon eight 
miles.’ It is a fine horse-back ride ; only one short 
bridge and a little forest to pass; you would enjoy 
the ride, my lady. King Manuel and his retinue 
used to come here to the chase, and he would come 
to this tower and scan the Atlantic, longing to see 
Vasco da Gama’s fleet returning from the East 


no 


THE PALACE 


Indies. He had given up all hope of ever seeing 
them again, when one day, to his surprise and joy, 
he saw the long-wished-for vessels with all their 
ensigns fluttering in the breeze. 

“The King caused all the old cannon to boom 
over the ocean and banners waved from every 
tower. 

“He made a vow,” continued the old man, “to 
remodel this old castle into a magnificent palace. 
This is the only part which was built by the Moors, 
and that was their drawbridge to protect them- 
selves against the Christians.” 

Gloria joined her father and the Viscount. After 
visiting the church, they rambled through the 
beautiful grounds, or sailed upon the lake. 

“There is no need to ask Donna Gloria how she 
enjoyed her visit to Mt. Pena. I have never seen 
her in better spirits. She admits that she is 
charmed with Cintra, and now is the time I shall 
make her an offer of marriage,” said the Viscount. 

“The sooner you do it, the better,” replied the 
Count, wishing the suspense was over. He could 
not believe that Gloria had given up Herr Berner, 
and while he was craving more wealth, he felt that 
he and his daughter were growing strangely apart. 

It was twilight, the first of June. Gloria was 
walking in the garden, when Duarte de Costello 
joined her in her walk. 

“You must have known, Donna Gloria, that I 


III 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


have long cherished an affection for you, and wish 
to make you my wife. You will have everything 
that money can buy, and I will try and make you 
happy.’^ 

“You shall have your answer to-morrow,’’ she 
replied, leaving him abruptly. The Viscount has- 
tened to give Gloria’s words to the Count, who 
promised to use his influence for a favorable reply, 
and sent for Gloria. 

“Gloria,” said her father, as she entered the 
room, “the Viscount has told me you would give 
him the answer to his offer of marriage to-morrow, 
I hope it will be a favorable one. You know I 
want to see you well settled in life before I die.” 

“What will Herr Berner do, father?” 

“He is beneath you in station and wealth, and is 
not a suitable husband for you.” 

“Do you think one whose life has been a record 
of vice, more suitable? Can virtue and vice walk 
together in harmony, father?” 

“But, Gloria, all men sow their wild oats.” 

“Then let them join their lives to women who 
sow their wild oats.” 

“If I did not think it was for your interest, I 
would not urge it.” 

“Oh, father!” and the poor girl threw her arms 
around her father’s neck and kissed him, as she 
left the room. 


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CHAPTER VI 


THE MARRIAGE 


LORIA MELLO, like all young girls in 



Portugal, never went abroad alone, but al- 


ways with a companion. Portuguese girls 
have all the bravery and independence of Ameri- 
can girls in contending for their rights, but they 
have a certain timidity in venturing out alone. It 
is more from habit and the remarks of people than 
from fear; but this usage, once the custom of the 
country, is fast becoming one of the things of the 


past. 


Gloria went to her room. Her time for action 
had come; she knew no fear; opening the little 
writing desk, she wrote a note, and laid it upon 
the table. Sara entered with her supper. She 
drank a cup of tea, and put a sandwich, with some 
cake, into a little bag. 

“Sara,’’ she said, as the maid entered to take 
away the dishes, “do not call me before ten o’clock 
in the morning.” She never thought of sleep, but 
laid upon the bed to rest. “Why need I fear? 
God will guard me,” she murmured. The clock in 
the chapel struck eleven. All was quiet. She 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


arose, put on her traveling dress and hat, throw- 
ing a warm shawl over her shoulders, taking her 
boots and little bag, with a thick veil, she glided 
noiselessly down the stairs, and softly drew the 
bolt of the garden door. Putting on her boots, 
she opened the garden gate, and, in the shadow of 
the trees, reached the road, and was on her way to 
Lisbon. A sense of relief filled her heart with glad- 
ness. The full moon was sailing majestically in the 
sky. The distant roar of the ocean proclaimed 
God’s presence. She thought of her father. 
“Would he grieve for her? Would he forgive 
her ?” Faster and faster she walked ; she knew no 
weariness. She heard the gurgling of the little 
brook. She passed the bridge, and entered the 
woods beyond. She heard the rustle of the leaves, 
and the twittering of the little birds in their nests. 
She almost flew along the road. Love gave to her 
feet wings, as she thought of him to whom she was 
fleeing. “We shall meet to-morrow, Franze,” she 
murmured. 

That night the June moon was shining through 
the ivy-covered window of Franze Berner’s little 
library, as he sat there thinking of the words his 
mother had just read: — “I sought the Lord and 
He heard me and delivered me from all my fears.’’ 
He arose and went into the garden. 

“To-morrow is the eighth day of June, and 


THE MARRIAGE 


Gloria will be twenty-one. Oh, if I only knew 
where to find her!’’ he murmured. 

The clock struck the hour of midnight. Franze 
Berner opened his arms. “Come to me, Gloria, 
come quickly,” he pleaded. 

Folding his arms across his breast, with eyes 
upturned, he supplicated God, and, in the sublimity 
of his faith, he felt that his prayer would be 
answered. The dawn was breaking in the eastern 
sky. Gloria heard the distant rumbling in the great 
city. The mounted night-guard passed, and, stop- 
ping their horses, turned to look after her. The 
walls of Lisbon were before her, and her heart 
gave a throb of joy. 

She heard the soldiers’ bugles, from the various 
gates around the city, where the soldiers had been 
watchmen of the night, and were now returning to 
their barracks. She heard a clock strike six. She 
saw the King’s Palace on yonder hill. Bathing her 
face, and quenching her thirst at a way-side foun- 
tain, she ate her lunch, and felt refreshed. 

Mounting the hill, she saw an old ruined wind- 
mill. She entered it, and wrapping her shawl 
about her, laid herself upon some husks and slept 
soundly. The sun was high in the heavens when 
she awoke. 

“Mother,” said Franze Berner, that morning as 
he prepared to go to the University, “Gloria is 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


twenty-one to-day, and I am certain we shall hear 
from her soon/’ 

‘T hope so, my son; I dreamed last night that 
she came.” 

“In one hour my flight will be discovered,” 
soliloquized Gloria, as she tied the thick veil over 
her hat. She arrived at the gate of the King’s 
Park, and asked the guard if he could direct her 
to the house of Herr Berner, the Prince’s German 
teacher. 

“There is the place,” said the man, pointing to a 
square, bounded by a wall, with a long house in 
the center, half-hidden by trees. 

“How can I reach it?” she asked. 

“That road leads to the place.” 

Gloria hastened in the direction pointed out, and 
was soon at the gate. Looking through the grated 
window, she say Mrs. Berner cutting flowers; a 
servant answered the bell of the gate. 

“Can I see Herr Berner?” she asked. 

“He is at the University, and will not be home 
until afternoon.” 

“Can I see his mother?” 

Mrs. Berner had entered the house, and was in 
the library, arranging the flowers in vases. 

“There is a strange lady in the drawing-room 
who wishes to see you,” said the servant. 

“It is Gloria !” she exclaimed, and dropping the 
flowers, she hurried to the drawing-room. 


ii6 


THE MARRIAGE 


*T have reached you at last/’ and Gloria threw 
herself into the arms of the little mother, who drew 
her to the sofa. 

“Never to leave us; oh, my child, how much 
Franze has worried; no tidings of you could he 
get ; but come to your room, you must have some 
breakfast and rest; then we will talk.” 

Mrs. Berner insisted upon Gloria undressing and 
going to bed, while she went to arrange the break- 
fast. She ate the toast and egg, and drank a cup 
of coffee. 

“Now, you shall have a sweet sleep, dearest. 
Franze will be so wild with joy, he will keep you 
up half the night,” and the little mother kissed the 
pale face, closed the shutters, and softly shut the 
door. 

Gloria’s heart swelled with gratitude to God, 
who had guarded her through the dangers of the 
past night, and led her into the haven at last. Free 
from mental anxiety, weary and contented, she 
slept soundly. 

It was almost four o’clock when the little mother 
opened the door. Gloria was yet sleeping. 

“Poor dear, how tired and foot-sore she must 
be. I have a good mind not to tell Franze to- 
night ; to-morrow will be time enough. The post- 
man has brought a letter from Fayal and one from 
Valenca; they may cheer him enough for to- 
night.” 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


The gate opened, and Herr Berner entered. 
Hanging up his hat and coat, and putting on his 
dressing-gown, he went to his library. 

*'Two letters, and none from Gloria. Oh, 
mother !” he sighed. 

With a troubled, tired look, he tore open the let- 
ters. “Father Joseph will be here next week; 
hasn’t heard from Gloria or the Count, and don’t 
know where they are, or what to think about it.” 

“Count de Valenca has just returned from Eng- 
land ; stopped at Porto ; found the palace closed. 

“Where is the Count and Gloria? When is the 
wedding to be ? Let me know in season to come.” 

He threw the letters down, folded his arms upon 
the table, and laid his head upon them. 

“I was so sure I should hear something from 
Gloria to-day,” he sighed. 

“Dinner is waiting. Come Franze. I have some 
good news to tell you by and by.” 

“What is it, mother?” he asked, anxiously. 

“Eat your dinner first, and then you will be bet- 
ter able to enjoy it.” 

“Now I have finished, — have you heard anything 
from Gloria, mother?” 

“Did you know, Franze, that the Viscount de 
Costello had a palace in Cintra?” 

“No, mother; Gloria never said much about him 
to me.” 

“Well, she has been there until last night, when 


ii8 


THE MARRIAGE 


she left the palace, at eleven o’clock, and walked 
all night. She arrived here about ten this morn- 
ing, and is now fast asleep up-stairs.” 

“God heard my prayer last night. Oh, mother, 
how can I ever be worthy of the sincerity of such 
a woman’s love?” 

“You are worthy, my son. I will go and see if 
she is awake.” 

“Don’t awake her, mother. I am contented, now 
I know she is safe.” 

Gloria was dressing when the little mother 
knocked at the chamber door. Franze Berner met 
her at the drawing-room door, and put his arm 
around her slender figure. 

“Oh, Gloria, my life, my dearest one! Were 
you not afraid on that lonely road alone all night ?” 

“I was not alone ; God was with me ; I felt His 
presence all the way. Oh, Franze, I shall never 
forget that night I I felt so restful ; so happy I” 

“Dear love, how dark and hopeless my life 
seemed when I heard you had gone, — Manuel said, 
to Italy.” 

“Duarte de Costello stole our letters. Father 
was determined I should go to Italy or Cintra. I 
knew if I went to Cintra, I should be near you. I 
could not write, for I was watched. I dared not 
trust a servant. I could only trust in God and 
myself, and here I am.” 

“I called you last night, Gloria ; I felt you were 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


near mt” and Franze clasped her nearer his heart ; 
and there we will leave them, and return to the 
palace of Costello. 

The Count and Viscount were waiting for Gloria 
in the breakfast-room, when Sara entered with a 
frightened look, and a letter. 

“Donna Gloria is not in her room ; and I found 
this note upon the table.” The Count tore open 
the note and read: 

“Dear father, I cannot marry Viscount de Cos- 
tello. I would rather die. I shall be twenty-one 
when you read this, and in Lisbon with the one I 
love for his noble qualities, and whom I have prom- 
ised to marry. Forgive me, father, for leaving you 
thus ; but I must be true to God and myself. Ever 
yours, Gloria.” 

The Count was confounded, and the Viscount 
was thunderstruck. When he realized his bird had 
flown, the storm that followed was frightful. He 
raved like a mad man. He swore like a trooper; 
and when he had finished the vocabulary of oaths, 
he paused for want of breath. Glancing at the 
Count he read contempt and disgust on his face, 
which again let loose the devil that possessed him. 

“See here !” he roared, “why don’t you go after 
the vixen, and not sit there, staring at me like a 
d — n fool! Didn’t the immaculate angel tell me 
she would give me her answer to-day, eh ?” 

“There is your answer ! I should think she had 


120 


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THE MARRIAGE 


given it to you in actions as well as in words, you 
insulting cur,” said the Count, throwing the note 
at him, and leaving the room. 

“Get ready for Porto, Sara, while I go to the 
station for a coach.’’ And the Count of Villa Mon- 
cao returned to the Gray Palace a wiser man than 
when he left it. 

“Oh, but you should have heard him curse and 
swear, and see the devil blaze in his eyes. ’Pon 
my soul, I was afraid of him and glad to get out of 
the house that night,” said Sara, the next morning 
in relating the affair to Joan and Manuel. 

“I think the Count has got his eyes opened now. 
I am glad Donna Gloria is out of the way of such 
a brute. There is as much difference between 
Herr Berner and that villianous Viscount as there 
is betwixt a saint and a devil! But,” continued 
Manuel, “I suppose the Count will never forgive 
Donna Gloria for running away.” 

“She don’t need the forgiveness of a father who 
would sell his daughter to a scoundrel I Confound 
such fathers,” and Sara emphasized her little 
speech with a bang of the door. 

“Well, the old place will be gloomy enough now 
they are all gone,” sighed Manuel, as he went into 
the garden. 

In a few days a letter came from Gloria, inform- 
ing her father of her safe arrival in Lisbon. The 
Count took no notice of it ; but he ordered Sara to 

I2I 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


pack all of Gloria's clothing, which was sent to her. 
The Count also gave her the property she inherited 
from her mother, and it did seem to Gloria that her 
father intended to fulfil his threat to disown her, 
but down deep in the Count’s heart, he was glad 
that his daughter had done as she did; although 
his pride would not allow him to acknowledge it. 

Father Joseph arrived, the next week, and Gloria 
was married to Herr Berner, by the old priest, in 
the little German church, assisted by the German 
pastor. Luiz and Alice were groomsman and 
bridesmaid. The Count knew that Father Joseph 
had married them, but he asked no questions. 
Irene came home on her yearly vacation. She vis- 
ited Gloria, and would have remained with her 
father, although she expressed to the old priest 
that the Gray Palace seemed forsaken, now the 
loved ones were gone. The Count told Irene she 
would be happier in the Convent, so she returned 
there in the Autumn. 


122 


CHAPTER VII 


THE RECONCILIATION 


IX years passed with few changes. The first 



year of their married life, Herr Berner took 


his wife to the Fatherland. They visited the 
old home at Gottengen and the University. They 
climbed the Alps^ and saw the wonders of Paris 
and London. The gracious Queen was a true 
friend to Donna Gloria, and being the daughter 
of a nobleman, she was admitted to the Royal 
Court, and was a great favorite with its noble 


ladies, 


The Count of Villa Moncao had never men- 
tioned his daughter’s name, nor answered a letter, 
since her marriage ; but his form was less erect, his 
hair was streaked with gray, and the once brilliant 
eyes had a sad, eager expression. He was gentle 
and kind to his servants and tenants, but days 
would pass without his noticing, or speaking, to 
anyone. 

Duarte de Costello found a balm for his disap- 
pointment in the gambling-room; returning now 
and then to Cintra. One day his creditors came 
and took away the furniture, and the Viscount dis- 


123 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


missed the servants, telling them, ‘^he was not go- 
ing to waste any more time in this infernal hole.” 
He went to France, where he met his death in a 
notorious gambling-saloon. The estate and title 
were given to an illegitimate son, whom the old 
Viscount had to acknowledge and make his heir 
before his death, if Duarte left no children. 


Little Henrique Berner was a fine, stout boy of 
five years. Leaving his play one afternoon, he 
went to his mother’s side with the old inquiry, — 

“Mamma, am I not most big enough for grand- 
papa to send for me?” 

“Yes, my boy; perhaps he will send for us soon.” 

“But, mamma, why do you wait for grandpa to 
send for us ? When I want to see you or papa, or 
grandma, I don’t wait, but run to you and papa, 
and grandma. Did you do anything naughty ? And 
did grandpa send you away, mamma?” 

“No, child,” said his mother, with a sad smile. 
“Your grandpa had a little boy once. He never 
was strong; he suffered much pain, but he never 
complained. I used to wheel him in the garden, 
read and sing to him, and we loved each other, 
dearly; but one day an angel came and took his 
soul to God, — to Heaven.” 

“Isn’t that where I came from, mamma?” 

“Yes, darling, your little spirit came from God; 


124 


THE RECONCILIATION 




so you see grandpa has never had a little boy since 
then/’ 

“Poor grandpa, can’t I be his little boy? You 
will have little Franze; he is most as big as I. 
Grandpa may die before I’ll see him. Oh, mamma, 
do let us go !” 

“Yes, my boy, we will surely go; now, run into 
the garden, and play. 

“Oh, won’t grandpa be glad to see me ?” and the 
little fellow climbed upon his mother’s lap, for a 
hug and a kiss. 

Gloria seemed to have suddenly awakened from 
a dream. Her little boy had opened her eyes. 

“Was it possible that her father was waiting for 
her to come ?” Surely it was her duty to go to him. 
Why had she not thought of it before ?” 

She was sure he would receive her and her chil- 
dren. 

Gloria related little Henrique’s conversation to 
her husband that evening; and, she added, “He is 
such an observing boy; there is no need of his 
knowing that father objected to our marriage.” 

“You are right, always right, my precious 
Gloria; but how singular that our child should 
teach us our duty,” murmured Herr Berner. 

“When would you like to go, dearest?” 

“Father Joseph wrote that father was going to 
Villa Moncao this week. Luiz and Alice are at 
Valenca; they have often urged us to visit them; 


125 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


but I could not think of it while father felt so to- 
ward me. Oh, if that dear boy could bring us to- 
gether, I should be so happy. I know it grieves 
Father Joseph. I will write to Alice that I am 
coming next Thursday, with the children and 
Maria.” 

In a few days an answer came from Luiz that he 
would meet them on the three o’clock train, at 
Porto, and accompany them the rest of the journey. 
The day arrived, they had kissed grandma good- 
bye, and Franze saw them on the cars. 

‘Tt is the first time we have parted since our 
marriage, dear Franze, and if I did not feel it was 
my duty, I would not go.” 

“I know it ; you must go, darling,” he replied, as 
he embraced her and the children. 

How strange it seemed to Herr Berner, when he 
opened the gate that afternoon. No little Hen- 
rique to run and meet him ; no baby Franze, hold- 
ing up his little arms for a kiss and a frolic, and no 
loving wife awaiting him, but his dear old mother 
pressed a kiss upon his brow. 

As the cars slowly passed the station at Coimbra, 
Gloria thought of that sad and dreary day, more 
than six years before, when she waited there for 
the train to pass, and as the cars crossed the bridge 
over the river Douro, she caught a glimpse of the 
tower of her childhood home — the old Gray Palace, 
and a throb of delight filled her heart. 


126 


THE RECONCILIATION 


The Count of Valenca was waiting for them at 
the station. It was almost sunset when Gloria saw 
the Sierras (mountains) with the vine-clad terraces, 
where the grapes grew in rich sandy soil, which is 
well watered by the heavy night dew. The chil- 
dren were asleep when they arrived at Valenca. 
Father Joseph was there to meet them. 

“I am very glad you have come,” said the old 
priest. "‘Your father is not well. He is unhappy 
and losing all interest in his affairs.” 

It was decided that Luiz should go with Gloria 
and the children, the next day, to Villa Moncao. 
It was noon when they reached the palace. Gloria 
went to her room, which was in the same condition 
as she had left it, so long ago. She left little 
Franze and Maria there, and, taking Henrique, led 
him toward her father’s room. “You must go 
alone, and tell grandpa who you are.” She parted 
the heavy curtains at the door, and gently pushed 
the little fellow into the room. 

The Count was dozing in his arm-chair, and as 
Henrique drew near, he opened his eyes, and the 
boy climbed upon his knee, holding up his little 
rosy mouth for a kiss. 

“Who are you ?” asked the Count, with surprise. 

“I am little Henrique, and I come to take the 
place of Henrique who went to Heaven.” 

“Who sent you here ?” 


127 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


''Mamma ; we waited and waited, but you did not 
send for us ; and I begged mamma to let me come.” 

"Who is your mother?” asked the Count, in a 
trembling voice. 

"Why, don’t you know? Papa calls her his 
'Precious Glory,’ and you are my grandpa. Mamma 
loves you, and I do love you,” and the little fellow 
nestled nearer to the Count, who put his arms 
around him. 

"Where is your mother? I was dreaming of her 
just now. I have also waited, oh, so long. Why 
don’t Gloria come to me ?” and he clasped the child 
to his heart. 

"Here I am, dear father,” and Gloria entered the 
room, knelt and laid her head upon her father’s 
knee. Little Henrique was awed by the silence, 
and his mother’s tears. 

"Don’t cry, mamma, you shall have grandpa’s 
knee to sit upon,” exclaimed the little fellow, jump- 
ing down, and running out of the room. 

"Oh, Gloria, I thought you would never come; 
that my selfishness had made you despise me. I 
did not blame you for going away that night. The 
next day, I saw what a life you had escaped. I 
knew that my heartlessness had driven you from 
me. I thought of Henrique’s dying request ; 
and — ” 

"Dear father, let us forget it. Now that you 
have received me again to your heart, my happi- 


128 


THE RECONCILIATION 


ness is complete. Come and see my little Franze/’ 
and she pressed a kiss upon her father’s brow, as 
she led him into the garden where the children 
were playing hide and seek, with Maria. 

“Come, Gloria! Come Henrique! It is nearly 
sunset ; it is time to go,” said Luiz. 

“I shan’t go ; I’m going to stay with my grand- 
pa,” shouted Henrique, clinging to the Count’s 
hand. 

“Be off, you scamp, or I’ll set the dog on you,” 
exclaimed the Count, laughing. 

“ 'Man proposes, and God disposes.’ I know 
two marriages that were made in Heaven, Uncle 
Henrique,” replied Luiz, joyfully, as he entered 
the carriage and drove home to tell Alice the good 
news. 

And so the bright summer days passed. Gloria 
was united to her father in a sweeter, dearer bond, 
for he was learning to lay up treasures in Heaven, 
and a little child was leading him. 

The rainy season was over, and the bright blue 
sky was permanent. The family were again at the 
old Gray Palace. The holidays were approaching, 
and with them came Franze Berner and his mother. 
The Count went with Gloria to the station. After 
shaking hands with Mrs. Berner, he turned to Herr 
Berner and opened his arms in true Portuguese 
courtesy, and the two men embraced each other. 

“I am proud of you, Franze,” said the Count, 


129 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


drawing his arm within his, and leading him to the 
carriage. 

Christmas came, bringing Irene and the Count of 
Valenca’s family. The little mother, with Gloria’s 
help, was arranging a Christmas tree in the great 
drawing-room. Henrique was admiring the tree 
and looking around the large rooms. “Grandpa,” 
said he, climbing upon the Count’s knee, “there is 
one thing I want to make me the happiest boy in 
the whole world.” 

“What is it? You shall have it, if it is the half 
that I possess.” 

“Do you know any poor children who haven’t a 
Christmas tree ? I want them to come and have a 
gay time with Luiz, Franze and me.” 

“You shall have them,” replied the Count, and 
the rooms in the old Gray Palace rang as they 
never rang before, with the shouts and laughter of 
merry children, each taking to their humble homes 
a remembrance of that joyful Christmas day. 

The time came for Herr Berner and his family to 
return to Lisbon. The Count tried to induce him 
to resign his position, and make the Gray Palace 
his home. 

“I appreciate your kindness, but I love my voca- 
tion and cannot leave it yet,” he replied. 

Little Henrique passed most of his time with 
his grandfather. 

“What will you do, Henrique, when you are the 


130 


THE RECONCILIATION 


Count of Moncao, and have all my property to 
manage?” asked the Count, one day. 

‘T shall try to be a good and just man.” 

‘^And how .will you try ?” 

“By helping the poor, and doing to others as I 
would want them to do to me. Mamma says I 
will have to give an account of my stewardship to 
God. It says so in my little Testament.” 

This little child guided the Count of Moncao 
into the truth and light ; and Gloria practiced what 
she taught her children. She carried spiritual and 
temporal comforts to the sick and needy. 

Father Joseph was an English priest, was grad- 
uated at the English college in Lisbon, and was 
much loved in the family of the Count de Villa 
Moncao, where he lived and died. 

Father Joseph, whose life and teachings were 
such a blessing to this family, lived to enjoy the 
fruits of his labors, and at a good old age, passed 
beyond life’s cares, a few years ago. 

It was the evening before Christmas. His dear 
ones were around his bed in Eulalia’s chamber. 
His last words were, “The Lord has heard my 
prayers. I have fought the good fight. I have 
kept the faith. I have finished my course, and now 
I shall see the glory, and enjoy the full love of my 
God.” 

The vault was opened in the little chapel and his 
coffin was laid upon one of the stone tables, and 


A TOUCH OF PORTUGAL 


thus we leave this dear family, following the foot- 
steps of the Master, and possessed with the blessed 
hope of meeting Him and the loved ones gone 
before. 


132 


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